


Heart and Soul

by KitMontana



Series: Heart and Soul Series [1]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-04 04:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18335885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitMontana/pseuds/KitMontana
Summary: Janeway must deal with the consequences of being captured by the Kazon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm archiving these stories without the author's permission because they're too good to lose to the bottomless pit of the internet. If anybody has an issue with this, or if you are the author and want them gone, please leave me a comment and let me know how I can get in touch with you.

Ensign Harry Kim, squinted his eyes slightly as he looked up into the slowly moving clouds above him and decided the shape wasn't a dragonfly after all. It was a Vulcan flybat roosting on the crossbeam of a barn.  
  
He sighed deeply and rolled over on his stomach, pillowing his head on folded arms. Soft, flexible grass smelling of earth and sun and rain tickled his nose and he snorted.  
  
Damn, it felt good to lie in the sun. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so relaxed; certainly not since he and Voyager had been flung to this quadrant just days after he'd reported on board. The weeks before that, he'd been so keyed up and excited about his first posting to a starship -- aboard Voyager with Captain Kathryn Janeway, his first choice of assignments! -- that he'd hadn't been able to sleep, much less relax. And then once he was on Voyager, there'd barely been time to think, much less anything else.  
  
Not that he was complaining. No one joins Starfleet with relaxation in mind.  
  
A life of adventure. That's what he'd signed on for.  
  
Starfleet! New places! New faces! New races!  
  
Wasn't that the inane joady he'd chanted with all the other new cadets as they marched to and from class during Plebe Week?  
  
That seemed a million light years away now. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. No, not a million light years, he thought, only about 75,000.  
  
Well, Starfleet has certainly given me the adventure of a lifetime; several lifetimes, actually. I just wish it all wasn't so ... compressed. I just wish I had a few moments to catch my breath.  
  
He inhaled deeply and let it out in a long, slow, stream, the last of the tension in his body going with it. The earth had a familiar smell, almost like back home. His lips curled into a wider smile. He rolled over on his back, arm over his eyes.  
  
Home.  
  
He slept.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Captain Janeway stood in front of her command chair on the bridge of her ship, alternately looking at the padd in her hand and into the viewscreen that held the visage of her first officer.  
  
“This looks promising, Chakotay. You think you'll be able to get it all on board before nightfall?” asked Janeway, tapping a code into the padd.  
  
“Nightfall? No problem. With time to spare. But .... “ the first officer's voice trailed off as if an idea had come to him mid-sentence.  
  
Janeway looked up. “But? There's a problem, Commander?”  
  
Chakotay gave her a slight smile. “Not a problem, Captain. It's just ... this is a beautiful place. It would be a shame to leave without allowing all of the crew to have a little time planetside.” He paused to let the thought sink in. “I don't suppose you'd consider spending a day or so more here?”  
  
Janeway stood in silence for several seconds to consider the idea. With their foodstuffs replenished, she was anxious to be on their way again. Still, there was value in what Chakotay was suggesting. Some time planetside would be good for everyone on board. Holodecks were fine, but there was nothing like the real thing.  
  
She looked at the chronometer, checked the information on the padd, and then turned to her security officer.  
  
“Mr. Tuvok, how many of the crew haven't been planetside yet?” she asked.  
  
Interestingly enough, Tuvok knew the answer without consulting his computer. “There are 24 that haven't been down to the surface,” he said, without inflection. Janeway eyed him with suspicion.  
  
“Have you been talking to Commander Chakotay?” she asked.  
  
Tuvok looked puzzled. “I have consulted with him on a number of matters, Captain. Is there an issue in particular you wish to know about?”  
  
Janeway gave him a wry grin, and then looked back at her first officer. “Mr. Chakotay, I'm sending you 24 more -- er -- fruit gatherers. I hope you make good use of them. I usually don't like to send so many of the crew down at one time, but I think we can make an exception for a few hours. Just make sure everyone's back on board by twenty one hundred.”  
  
Chakotay gave her a smile back. “Aye, Captain. We'll make sure they're put to good use ... and, uh, could you ask Mr. Tuvok to pass on to them that they might want to bring their swimming suits?”  
  
Janeway shook her head. “I believe, Commander, you're taking advantage of my good mood.”  
  
Chakotay smile widened, his teeth flashing white. “Oh yes.” Janeway laughed out loud. It sounded good to the few crew members who remained on the bridge. It felt good to Janeway.  
  
There had been little reason to laugh over the last many weeks. Shortages in food and basic materials; frustratingly troublesome problems in engineering; overworked personnel; an under-maintained ship -- these had kept the crew so busy and on edge that there had been little time for relaxation or pleasure. They raced from one universe to the next, searching for a way home, pausing only to restock with supplies by scavenging or buying or bartering.  
  
It wore on the soul, this constant movement without reward beyond another light year traveled and another meal served. And yes, while it was true they were exploring new worlds and discovering civilizations, the realization there was a very good chance they would never be able to tell their friends or family about them sucked the pleasure out of every discovery.  
  
So when they'd come across this class M planet, with its greenery so much like Earth, with it balmy weather and beaches that reminded her of the black sands of Maui, Janeway was tempted to linger a little; to let her ship-bound crew remember what it was like to smell clean, real air, not the scrubbed, odorless atmosphere generated by the life support system of Voyager.  
  
Linger, yes -- but not too long. The way back -- a wormhole, a civilization with the technological capability to send them back; or even the other Caretaker -- might be just in the next universe, or if not that one, the next ...  
  
The twenty-four “fruit-gathers” beamed down to join the twelve crewmembers who were already enjoying the warmth of this unnamed planet's sun. They were a little surprised they were allowed away from shipboard duty for no other reason than the Captain's whim. Still, no one complained.  
  
Not one.  
  


* * *

  
  
Harry Kim snorted and scratched his nose where it tickled, not even bothering to open his eyes. Not ten seconds later, the tickling continued, more persistently this time, and he snorted again, rubbing his nose vigorously. He opened his eyes to find the streaming light of this planet's sun blocked from his face by a figure. Drowsed by the warmth of the sun, dulled by sleep, it took him three seconds recognize the dark shape of a Kazon head outlined by the brightness.  
  
Like a striking snake, he reached to tap his comm badge, but found his wrist gripped with crushing pressure. Another Kazon squatted next to him, a long blade of grass held up between finger and thumb.  
  
“You see, Terrel, humans are very ticklish. Remember that other one, Chakotay? A little tickling and we had him rolling in the passageway with laughter. Perhaps it will be the same with this human.” Kim's body froze, his mind racing. Then there were at least two Kazon on the planet -- Kazon Voyager's sensors didn't detect. They must be wearing some kind of sensor blocker. He couldn't help thinking Seska, with her engineering knowledge, might have something to do with that. “Human, what is your name?” asked one.  
  
Kim swallowed. Name, rank and service number. That information was allowed to be shared with the enemy. That's what Starfleet regulations specified.  
  
“Kim. My name is Harry Kim.”  
  
The Kazon who asked the question and stood and brought his hands to his hips. “Oh. Kim. We know about you. Operations officer, correct?”  
  
Kim blinked, then turned his face away with what he hoped would be taken for disdain. The pain came so quickly it was impossible for him to steel himself against it. A touch of a long silvery wand held in Terrel's hand, and Harry was screaming, doubled up on the ground, hands folded tightly across his chest. It went on forever, until finally the Kazon pulled the stick away from the Ensign's shoulder. Ten seconds. That's all that it had taken to reduce him to a screaming, inhuman thing, begging for it to stop. He was trembling, damp with cold sweat, nausea rolling over him like a wave.  
  
His communicator pin was ripped from his chest as he lay, chest heaving. “Now, Harry Kim, let me ask again. You are Voyager's operation's officer?”  
  
Harry nodded, eyes clenched tight.  
  
“Well, Voyager's operation's officer. Get up. We're going to meet your friends.”  
  
Harry stood on shaking legs, ashamed that he had been captured so easily, ashamed that he had already violated the guidelines set down by Starfleet regarding release of information when taken by the enemy. Kim was dead sure who ever set those guidelines down had never had a Kazon painstick held to him, had never been tortured by a Kazon warrior. He walked down the path the Kazon indicated, hands locked over his head.  
  
Still trembling, off balance, he stumbled, giving the Kazon an excuse to jab him with the painstick. He jerked away, his heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to keep up and avoid the agony of the prod. Then, suddenly, the trees parted and they entered a clearing. Voyager's landing party was there, all of them, surrounded by crates and containers ready for transport to the ship. More than a dozen Kazon, heavily armed with blaster rifles and hand-held weapons Kim had never seen before, were standing about, watching Voyager's crew with a curious mix of diligence and amusement on their faces.  
  
The three dozen Voyager crewmembers were all on the ground, either seated cross-legged with their hands laced behind their necks, or prone, clutching injuries of varying degrees of severity. Chakotay, leaning against one of the crates, held his head with both hands. Blood streamed from between his fingers. His face was gray, his eyes closed.  
  
And then, there was Seska, swaggering forward, one of the hand weapons dangling from her fingers. Next to her was her consort, Maj Cullah. “Well, if it isn't Harry Kim. Long time, Harry.” She spoke with exaggerated insouciance, on the edge of a sneer. He wanted to hit her, to wipe that expression off of her face.  
  
“This is the last one, Maj,” said Terrel. “He was taking a nap.” Cullah sneered.  
  
“A nap. How nice. Well, Harry Kim. Behave yourself and you'll be able to take other naps in your life. Misbehave, and you take one long nap. Do you understand?”  
  
Harry gritted his teeth and nodded, and then sat where one of Cullah's supernumeraries indicated, between Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres. “How did they get here without us detecting them?” he whispered, trying not to move his lips.  
  
Paris coughed discreetly, trying to camouflage his reply. “Some kind of sensor blocker they wear on their belts. Didn't know they were here until they were on us.”  
  
“I think Chakotay's hurt pretty bad,” whispered B'Elanna, her voice tight with concern. Kim looked at Chakotay more carefully. The first officer wasn't unconscious, but he groaned nearly continuously. Blood was oozing from one ear and his hair was matted with it.  
  
“What happened to him?” he asked in a whisper.  
  
A dark shadowed crossed the young engineer's face and she looked at Cullah with narrow eyes. For a moment, Kim thought she might jump up and attack the Kazon. “Cullah -- Chakotay was trying to reason with him, trying to persuade him not to use the painsticks on Wildman when she didn't get up fast enough to please. Cullah hit him, knocked him down, and then started kicking him -- if Seska hadn't stopped him ... “ Torres stopped, eyes narrowing again, her voice catching.  
  
“What can they want? Are we going to sit here forever?” asked Kim, eyes darting from one Kazon guard to another.  
  
Cullah turned from his discussion with Seska to face the Voyager crew. “I'm sure someone out there has asked what do we want from you. My answer is -- nothing. We want nothing from you.”  
  
Harry exchanged a quick glance with Tom. A Kazon saying he wants nothing from you is like the crocodile saying he wants nothing in return for ferrying the tasty monkey across the river.  
  
“Voyager. You want Voyager,” said Torres, with scorn in her voice. “If you think the Captain will exchange Voyager for us, you're dead wrong.”  
  
Cullah took three quick steps forward to where the engineer knelt. He towered over the young lieutenant, and for a moment Harry thought he was going to strike her. But instead, he smiled strangely at her, as if his favorite child had come up with the right answer to a difficult question.  
  
“Lieutenant Torres. You are right. The Captain would never exchange your lives for her ship -- what did you call it, Seska, a violation of your Federation's Prime Directive or some such nonsense?” He walked over to Chakotay and pulled the first officer's hands away to look at his wounds. The officer groaned, his head falling back. “Terrel, you better do something with this one. Janeway won't like it if he dies. And we want Janeway to be happy.”  
  
He smiled that smile again, eyes raking over his captives. They settled on Kim. With a wave of his hand, the Kazon beckoned the young man over. “Ah, Ensign Kim. I need your assistance.” The Kazon tossed him one of the communicators that had been confiscated from the crew. “Hail Captain Janeway. I wish to speak with her.”  
  
Kim stood slowly, the pin in his hand gripped tightly, not quite certain what to do. Should he hail the Captain? Or refuse? And why have him contact the Captain? Why didn't the Kazon just do it himself? And then it became clear. Cullah wanted somebody from the crew to tell what had happened so there would be doubt as to the truth of it. It was a little extra pressure on the Captain. Hesitating, Kim looked to Chakotay, who was now on his back. The Kazon Terrel was mopping the first officer's head wound, treating it with some kind of dermosealer. The reek of burned flesh filled the air. Chakotay writhed under the treatment and moaned. Palms sweating, Harry tapped the comm pin.  
  


* * *

  
Janeway relaxed in her command chair, relishing the fact that this most recent crisis -- the food shortage -- had been allayed, with the added bonus of allowing the crew liberty on a benevolent planet. Sometimes, providence smiled upon them and granted small, unexpected gifts.  
  
Behind her, she could hear Carey and Tuvok in some benign discussion about revamping the security system around the warp core. They spoke of coefficients and radicals and power spikes as if they were discussing the accomplishments of their children.  
  
“Captain, Ensign Kim is hailing you,” said Ensign Carnes, the petite young woman who was sitting in at operations for Kim.  
  
“Mr. Kim is hailing me?” she asked, a bit surprised.  
  
It was a minor breech in protocol, probably some oversight by Harry, but it was enough of one that it made the Captain raise an eyebrow. Ensigns rarely hailed Captains, unless they were the officer in charge of the mission, which Harry was not. Normally Ensigns -- or any officer junior to Chakotay -- hailed the ship, not the Captain. Janeway smiled to herself and thought of the mild teasing retort she would give the young man after she answered his hail. She leaned back in her chair, and signaled for Carnes to put Harry through to her.  
  
“Captain Kim! How nice to hear from you!”  
  
Almost before the words were out of her mouth, she was on her feet. There was something wrong. She could read it in every fiber of Harry's body. His face was stiff, his eyes shifting to the right, and then snapping back, as if he had been told by some unseen force to cage his eyes forward.  
  
“What is it, Harry? Has someone been hurt?” Janeway tried to appear calm, but even she could hear the urgency in her voice. Behind her, Tuvok and Carey stopped speaking. There was silence on the bridge. And then, standing next to Harry, an arm carelessly draped over the youngster's shoulders, was Cullah. He was grinning, and rubbing the barrel of a hand weapon against Harry's neck and head in almost a loving, caressing manner. Janeway saw a shudder rush through the young man's body.  
  
“Good morning, Captain. How good to see you again,” said Cullah, his voice dripping with artificial pleasantness. “Look who I ran into down on the planet -- Ensign Harry Kim, operations officer of the United Star Ship Voyager. We've been having a lovely talk, haven't we, Harry?” Harry blinked, his face stony.  
  
“Harry, are you all right? Have you been hurt?”  
  
Kim shook his head. “No. But the Commander -- “  
  
“Ah, yes, the Commander, “ interrupted Cullah. “Commander Chakotay and the other members of your fine crew -- they're all here. Tell her, Harry. Tell her about it.”  
  
Harry looked at Cullah, and then forward, as if he could look into Janeway's face. “Captain, we've all been taken prisoner. I think they have some kind of electronic system that allows them to block our tricorders and Voyager's sensors-- we never detected their life signs. Commander Chakotay, a few of the others, have been injured. I don't know how bad.” The Ensign's face changed, became contrite. “I'm ... I'm sorry, Captain.”  
  
Cullah's smile grew wider. “Very nice, Mr. Kim. Now you may sit down.”  
  
Kim was pushed down by Cullah's underlings, nearly falling on top of Torres.  
  
“Ensign Kim has told you the truth, Captain. If you don't believe him, I can have Mr. Paris or Ms. Torres or any of the other officers tell you the same thing,” said Cullah with an earnestness that Janeway found repugnant.  
  
“That won't be necessary. Just tell me what you want.”  
  
Cullah stopped smiling. “I want Voyager. But I know that you would let these good people die before you would give her to me.” Janeway bowed her head slightly, relief flooding through her. It was what she thought he would ask of her, and she was preparing herself to say no. But if he wasn't going to ask for the ship ...  
  
“I cannot give you any of the technology aboard Voyager,” said Janeway, hoping to belay what she thought his request might be.  
  
The Kazon nodded, eyes hard. “I remember our past discussion. You have made that clear. So hear my demands now.”  
  
He stepped forward, the slight smile returning to his face, his eyes slits. “First, in three hours my ship will arrive. You will not fire upon her or make any aggressive moves.” Janeway lowered her head slightly. So that was why Voyager's sensor's didn't pick up Cullah's ship in the area -- he'd sent it away, out of sensor range. She gave a brief nod of agreement.  
  
“You're next demand?” she asked.  
  
Cullah smiled wider, enjoying that he had the upper hand in this discussion.  
  
“Next, you will shut down your warp core immediately.” Janeway heard Carey start behind her. Shutting down the warp core would mean Voyager would be without warp drive for more than six hours while they brought the engines back on line. While “cold” starts had been successfully accomplished on some Federation ships, it was impossible for Voyager. A cold start shocked the ship's bioneural interfaces so severely that the packs would have to be replaced. And they had few replacements. Six hours without warp drive with at least one Kazon ship in the sector. It wasn't a pleasant thought. Still, Janeway thought it was an acceptable risk. Voyager's weapons were superior to the Kazon's and they should be able to defend themselves until the engines could be brought back on line and they could warp out of the area.  
  
“What else?” she demanded.  
  
Cullah was relishing this, playing this out. He smiled broader still, and then looked around him, taking count of his prisoners, preening himself at his cleverness. Impatiently, Janeway shifted from one foot to the other.  
  
“Actually, Captain, I have what I need right now -- thirty-six of the finest minds in Starfleet. They can tell me everything I want to know about warp cores and replicators and deflector arrays.” Cullah stopped, looking thoughtful.  
  
“But you see, there's a problem. Captain. I have a very small ship. They would never all fit aboard. So I have to pick who I want to help me very carefully. I must pick the very best.” His smile showed piranha teeth.  
  
“So, Captain ... I pick you.”  
  
Janeway felt her stomach flip.  
  
“That is not possible,” Tuvok said behind her.  
  
“Damn right it's not possible,” she heard Carey explode. “You don't give your Captain away like she was yesterday's muffins!” Janeway stood unmoving for several seconds. Before her, she could see Cullah's face fill with enjoyment. Her torment gave him pleasure.  
  
“In exchange for me, you will return my crew unharmed?” she asked.  
  
Cullah feigned surprise. “Of course, Captain. I am a man of honor. You beam aboard my ship; your crew beams up. As I said, I have no wish to keep them; I have no room for them on my ship.”  
  
Janeway thought quickly. Voyager was capable of beaming up eight individuals at a time. Once she was aboard Cullah's ship, there was nothing to prevent the Kazon from harming the remaining twenty-eight crewmembers who remained on the planet surface. She shook her head. “All but the last seven, then I'll beam aboard your ship as we beam the last seven of my crew beam up. A synchronized beam.”  
  
Cullah shrugged. “If you wish. So we are in agreement?” Janeway nodded, her face stony. “We are in agreement. Me for my crew.”  
  
Cullah smiled. “Such a reasonable woman. Now, Captain, if you would give the orders to your computer to shut down the warp core -- loud enough so that I can hear you -- I'll leave you in peace until my ship arrives.”  
  
Cullah started to turn slightly to speak to one of the Kazon standing next to him. Janeway called him back. “Cullah!”  
  
The Kazon turned back slowly, the light of victory in his eyes. “Maj. I am Maj Cullah ... Captain.”  
  
Janeway blinked slowly, then inclined her head slightly.  
  
“Of course. Maj Cullah.” She gripped the railing tighter. “I want to make one thing clear. All of the crew must be returned to me in good health. All of them.”  
  
The Maj smiled again, showing his sharp, discolored teeth.  
  
“Captain, let me assure you -- they will be returned to you unharmed. Unless, of course, they cause injury to themselves ... “ Janeway was suddenly aware her hands hurt. She looked down and found that she was gripping the railing so hard that her knuckles were white, the skin reddened with diffused blood. She slowly released her hold and rubbed them together, willing herself to relax.  
  
She turned to Tuvok and Carey. Carey's mouth was open, as if he couldn't believe what he hearing.  
  
“Mr. Carey, I'm going to shut down the warp corp. Please go to engineering to complete the post-shut down check list.”  
  
Carey stared at her a moment, and then left the bridge without a word.  
  
Janeway turned back to the viewscreen.  
  
“Computer, this is Captain Kathryn Janeway. Shut down warp core.” The computer responded immediately. “Warp core shut down will result in no warp drive available for six hours. Do you wish to continue with warp core shut down?”  
  
Janeway gripped her arms with her hands. She could feel the pulse of her pounding heart. “Yes. I do.”  
  
Janeway felt a slight tremble go through the ship, and then a stillness that is possible only when the warp core was not active. “Warp core has been shut down. Initiate post shut down check,” droned the computer in its ever - unruffled voice. It was done. They had no warp drive for six hours. Cullah's ship would arrive, she would go on board, and the Kazon ship would have at least three hours head start on Voyager before she could be pursued. It might as well be three days. Voyager's sensors wouldn't be able to detect the Kazon ship when it had that much lead.  
  
Cullah gave her a small bow. “Thank you for your cooperation, Captain. I look forward to having you as my guest.”  
  
The transmission went dead.  
  
Janeway stood frozen for several beats of her heart before turning to the skeleton bridge crew that stood waiting for her to speak. She took a deep breath to collect herself. “Mr. Tuvok, we have three hours to figure out a way for me to escape the hospitality of the Kazon.” She gave him the shade of a smile, trying to make this a small joke, trying to show she had absolutely no doubt that they'd find a way out for her.  
  
“In the mean time, I want all security and command codes under my voice command scrubbed. Re-introduce your own, to be transferred to Chakotay when he returns. And I want all SOP under my voice command to be terminated.”  
  
With long strides, she walked up the sloping deck toward the turbolift, pausing only to squeeze the shoulder of Carnes, whose mouth hung open in shock. The young ensign's mouth immediately closed and she turned to her tasks, but Janeway still detected a slight tremble in the youngster's hands.  
  
Janeway stood on the lift, holding it open with her hand. She scanned the bridge with new eyes. It looked different to her somehow. She felt like she did when she left her home for the Academy. She was leaving home behind ...  
  
“Mr. Tuvok, I'll be in sickbay. When you're done, please meet me there with Lieutenant Carey. We must discuss some things.” The lift door closed before Tuvok could reply.  
  


* * *

  
  
Janeway lay on the biobed, Kes standing over her with such a look of worry and distress that the Captain reached up to pat her arm in comfort.  
  
“Captain, you must be still if I'm to complete this in time,” said the Doctor, exasperation in his voice. “Although I can't say I approve of this.”  
  
Janeway smiled to herself wryly. I can't say I approve of it, either, she thought. Tangling my brain is not something I'd think of as a good idea. Tuvok and Carey came in together and stood a few feet away. Tuvok stood ramrod still and straight, dozens of years of Starfleet protocol stiffening his spine. Carey shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable about seeing his Captain prone on a biobed.  
  
The Doctor finished his scan, and the Captain sat up.  
  
“Shutdown protocols completed, Mr. Carey?”  
  
The engineer nodded, and then opened his mouth as if to say something, but then thought better of it and closed it. Janeway silently thanked him. She was in no mood to discuss anything except the immediate problem.  
  
“All commands re-issued, Mr. Tuvok?”  
  
Tuvok inclined his head.  
  
“Completed. If we do not find a way to resolve this situation, they will be turned over to Commander Chakotay when he returns.” Janeway nodded.  
  
“Now, the next task at hand -- protection of the Prime Directive. I've consulted with the Doctor, and he thinks he can block a considerable amount of the knowledge I retain about Voyager and Starfleet technology and scientific theories, even if I should be under duress. While we continue working on that, I want the two of you to figure out some way to get me back. If you have any other ideas, I want to hear them now.” She paused, looking from one to the other. Neither spoke.  
  
She slid off the biobed. “I'm game for anything, gentlemen. I am not looking forward to being a guest of Cullah. The only stipulation I have is that none of the crew be put in danger on my behalf. We can't afford to lose a single person.”  
  
Carey, unable to keep what he'd been holding back inside, finally spoke.  
  
“Captain, you just can't turn yourself over to those -- those predators! Look what they did to Commander Chakotay! You know what they'll do to you -- they'll pick your brain an'-an' then --”  
  
Tuvok interrupted the engineer. “That's enough, Mr. Carey. Perhaps if that's all you have to offer at this point you may want to retire to engineering to work on the retrieval of the Captain -- or better yet, a way to keep her here, yet return the crew.”  
  
There was a look of desperation in Carey's face as he shifted his gaze from the Captain to Tuvok and back again. His shoulders slumped, and he turned away.  
  
Janeway gave Tuvok a sideways grin. “A good man, Carey, but what I wouldn't give to have Torres here right now.” She paused, then sighed. “What I wouldn't give to have them all here right now.” The Doctor came back from his inner office, followed closely by Kes.  
  
“We're ready to start, Captain. I want to stress again that I cannot guarantee that this will be completely effective, and it will wear off after a few weeks ... “  
  
“By which time I'll be safely back aboard, Doctor. So let's get started.”  
  
She swung her legs up on the biobed and lay down. “Tuvok, when I'm done here, I'd like you to meet me in my ready room. The Doctor tells me this should take about two hours ... I won't have much time left, but I'll need to talk to you about some things.”  
  
The Vulcan nodded briefly, his hooded eyes betraying nothing about what was going on inside his mind. And for that, for once, Janeway was grateful.  
  


* * *

  
  
Janeway was on her knees before a open storage chest when Tuvok came through the door. Strewn about her were small bits of the flotsam and jetsam of Starfleet life: an odd chunk of what looked like rock and had no meaning except to its owner; computer chips in varying colors; old-fashioned books; a small wooden musical instrument; a medal on a bit of ribbon; holographic pictures in frames or fastened together with glistad. She stopped her packing and looked up when he came in. “I had a few minutes. I thought I'd spare someone this, “she said as she continued packing. “Any ideas yet?”  
  
Tuvok tilted his head and brought his chin up in manner that had become familiar and dear to Janeway over the many years of their friendship.  
  
“We continue to search for a possible solution to the problem. Mr. Carey is working on one possibility -- a feedback loop that will return you to us 20 seconds after you beam over to the Kazon ship -- but I fear that it will not be completed in time. With most of our engineering staff on the planet, there are few qualified to assist him.” Janeway nodded, and then motioned for him to take a chair. She sat back on her heels, still next to the storage container.  
  
“It'll be hard at first for Chakotay -- there are some on board who are still having trouble accepting him as first officer, much less commanding officer. He'll need your support,” she said.  
  
Tuvok looked puzzled at her comment, as if surprised that she should even need to say something so obvious. “Of course, Captain. I shall endeavor to serve him as I serve you.”  
  
Janeway's eyes softened. “You've served me well -- as an officer of Starfleet, and also as my friend. I wonder if I'd -- we'd -- have come so far without you.”  
  
She got up from her knees and went to stand before him. “It's only because of that friendship that I feel I can ask you this.” She walked to the window, watching the stars that moved past at the relatively slow, measured speed of impulse power. She spoke to them. “The Doctor could not assure me that the procedures he used would prevent the Kazon from getting the information they want from me. I need that assurance if I'm going to be their ... guest. Without it, I can not go through with this.”  
  
She turned and gave him a wan smile.  
  
“I've had the Doctor embed a microscopic organic poison capsule under my thumb nail. Chew on it and death is immediate. I won't feel a thing. If I'm not rescued within ... a reasonable amount of time, if the barriers start collapsing ... I'll use it. The Kazon can not get the information I hold. The balance of power in this quadrant would be shattered.” Janeway's comment cast a look of displeasure to Tuvok's face.  
  
“I find the thought of that ... unsatisfactory,” he said.  
  
Janeway turned back to the stars. “So do I. And I have every confidence that you'll be able to rescue me; I want to come back to Voyager.”  
  
There was silence in the room for a few seconds before she continued.  
  
“I need your help. I've heard that a mind meld can help build certain barriers, sublimate memories. I'm uneasy about the effectiveness of the Doctor's barriers, and ... I want to give myself as long as possible. I know this will not be pleasant for you, but will you help me?”  
  
Tuvok did not answer. Instead, he went to where she was standing and brushed the hair away from her ear, a curiously intimate gesture that startled her. But then he began to apply slight pressure with his fingertips ...  
  
Her anguish, her fear, her uncertainty, which he now shared, what paralyzing. The breath left his body; his stomach turned. He tried to focus, to push away the emotions so that he could concentrate on building the walls the Kazon could not break down. He delved into her memories, listening to her father's nursery rhymes, her mother's gentle guidance as she helped with algebra and calculus. He felt the thrill of her first kiss, and the joy as she learned she had been accepted to Starfleet Academy.  
  
Deeper he pushed, as she began her studies in earnest, learning warp drive theory, and matter and anti-matter engineering; plasma induction; quantum mechanics; replicator development and construction. Here, he lingered, dulling the memories and building the obstacles that the Kazon would have difficulty vaulting.  
  
And then, with a breathtaking intensity, he came upon the memories of Mark, Janeway's lover. He tried to pull back, to release himself from the power of the emotions, but found himself inexplicably pulled in deeper. The first meeting. The touch of hands. The sharing of thoughts and ideas. Making love. The inexorably drawing together of hearts and souls. Tuvok knew Janeway was fond of Mark; indeed, the Vulcan found the man to be a satisfactory companion for his Captain. But the strength, the steadfastness of her feelings for him -- even after almost a year and half apart -- impressed him. And also plunged him into a quandary.  
  
Should these memories be dulled as well? Their exposure by the Kazon wouldn't violate the Prime Directive. And yet, intuitively, he knew that if the Kazon lay open the emotions associated with Mark, it might be distressing to her ... yet, surely, these memories must provide some comfort to the Captain; the memories of a time when her way was not lost, and friends and family were only dozens of lightyears away.  
  
“Bridge to Captain. Kazon ship approaching at warp off our starboard.”  
  
Ensign Carnes' light, high voice startled the Vulcan and he lost his concentration, dropping his hands. Janeway, her eyes closed, swayed slightly. He caught her by the shoulders to steady her. Her eyes opened slowly to look straight into Tuvok's face. In all her years as his superior officer, and then, later, as friend and confidant, she had never seen such naked emotion in his face. If she hadn't know better, she would have sworn his eyes were bright with tears.  
  
“Bridge to Captain; acknowledge, please!”  
  
There was some urgency in Carnes' voice now, and Janeway knew there was no putting it off any longer. She tapped her comm pin. “Janeway to bridge; acknowledged. I'll be there in a moment.” She crossed her arms in front of her, gripping herself in that old familiar gesture that Tuvok had seen a thousand times.  
  
“Well. It's time. Remember, don't beam me over until the last seven are ready to beam up,” she said unnecessarily. She tried to smile, but failed. “Live long and prosper, my friend.” Tuvok lowered his head. “May the fates keep you safe, Captain. And never doubt we will come for you.”  
  
She turned and left without reply, leaving him standing alone.

* * *

  
  
Even lying on the biobed, weak with loss of blood and face gray with pain, Chakotay's fury was uncontainable.  
  
“How could you have let her go, Tuvok! You might have just as well draw and quartered her right here!”  
  
Tuvok gave him a perplexed look. “I am uncertain what you would have had me do, Commander. She chose to exchange herself for the thirty-six members of the crew the Kazon held. It was, of course, the only logical decision. Voyager can continue without one member, even if that member is the captain. The ship could not continue without those who were held captive, especially since they comprised most of our bridge and engineering staff, and life support technicians.” Tuvok's brows knit together. “I'm also baffled at your intimation that I should have not followed the Captain's legal orders to -- “  
  
“You have no idea -- she has no idea what they'll do to her!” exploded the first officer. “In a day, they'll have her screaming in agony and begging to tell them everything she knows! In a week she'll be begging them to end it all, to let her die! The Kazon could give the Cardassians lessons on extracting the most amount of pain and information from their captives! And you let her go, an innocent, unaware of what she was getting herself into -- “  
  
Tuvok let the first officer continue until he had exhausted himself and stopped, out of breath.  
  
“Commander. While I fear this will give you no comfort to know this, Captain Janeway went with full knowledge of what the Kazon would do to her. I know this for a fact. In my mind-meld with her, I was able to determine that her knowledge of what Kazon do to their captives was complete and accurate. Yet she did not hesitate in her decision to go. That she went without second thought may be one of the most overt acts of courage I have ever witnessed.”  
  
Chakotay lay still, his eyes closed. Kes, standing next to the bed, put a hand on his shoulder. “Her thoughts were for us, Commander. And for Voyager.”  
  
Chakotay let a long breath out, and then opened his eyes to look at Tuvok.  
  
“When will the warp drive be on line?” the first officer asked.  
  
“Thanks to the return of Lieutenant Torres and the diligence of Lieutenant Carey, we should be able to make warp speed within the next two hours,” said Tuvok.  
  
Chakotay sat up slowly, holding his head. “See if they can shave some off that. And then maximum warp. We've got to get the Captain back.”  
  
Tuvok nodded. “Aye, sir. Only -- where do we look?” Captain closed his eyes again, partly against the throbbing in his head, and partly to not have to look into that cool, emotionless Vulcan stare.  
  
Where to look for the Captain, indeed. Damn you, Kathryn Janeway, he thought. Damn your stubbborness and sense of duty and selflessness.  
  


* * *

  
Janeway lay on her back watching the sweat that accumulated on the overhead, calculating the time it took for the moisture to gather and become too heavy for osmotic tension to hold it up. The resulting droplet invariably fell with an almost imperceptible thenk on the amalgamated flooring. It was only when the random drop fell on the silver-gray metal table or chair, or one of the other odd pieces that were in the cell, that the sound of the falling moisture was more audible.  
  
At the count of four, another droplet fell, hitting the table and joining the puddle that other drops had made.  
  
One drop every four seconds. Fifteen every minute. Nine hundred every hour. How many drops left in her life?  
  
In her mind, Janeway went through a checklist of what might be wrong with the environmental system of the ship that allowed so much moisture to accumulate without being drawn off to be recycled. Clogged filters. Improper control settings. Faulty sensors.  
  
Or maybe it was intentional; the Kazon just liked it this way.  
  
A chill hit her and she rolled over, pulling the thin coarsely woven covering up over her shoulders. No wonder she felt sick. Who wouldn't get sick in this godforsaken hovel? The cold dampness seemed to penetrate to her bones; the blanket and the flimsy cassock they had given her to wear when they'd taken away her uniform did little to warm her. And who could eat that vile slop they called food? She'd given up at even trying to eat the shiny purplish meat that came with every meal. There wasn't much choice as the meat set her to gagging so badly that she lost what little there was in her stomach. She attempted to satisfy the gnawing with the dried vegetables and fruits that came with every meal, but there wasn't nearly enough of them to stop the hunger.  
  
Day eight was over. The drugs they'd used on her earlier were almost worn off, releasing her mind from their dulling grip. Now, her thoughts clearer, she was able to consider her plight with more objectivity.  
  
The days of her captivity had fallen into a pattern. Each morning -- or what she assumed was morning, since the Kazon had taken her chronometer when they'd taken her uniform she had no real way of knowing -- she was awaken by Clazen, the sullen, non-communicative Kazon who had first brought her to this cell. He never spoke, just dropped the black metallic bowl (which had probably never been washed in its entire existence) containing her food on the table with a clank, and then thumped the thermos of water down next to it. There was just barely enough water to satisfy Janeway's thirst, much less wash, and she suspected that Clazen took a few swigs before it got to her as the container was never completely full.  
  
He sat staring at her while she ate, following her hands with his eyes as they moved and watching her face as she chewed. Sometimes she gazed back at him, hoping to stare him down, but it never worked, so she turned her back to him, ignoring him.  
  
She ate slowly, knowing that once she was finished, Terrel would be called and the day's work would begin. The thought made her stomach lurch and her head ache. Only a week and a day of this, and she could already feel her stamina was diminished and the strength was leaving her limbs.  
  
Physical might had never been her forte. Indeed, she had participated in many of the sports and extracurricular activities required of cadets grudgingly, wanting to spend the time at her studies. But cadets are taught early that optimum fitness and physical defensive skills would more than once save their lives over the course of their Starfleet career. Being the ambitious young cadet she was, Janeway accepted this precept and took Klingon martial arts her first year, and judo, boxing, and cross country during her following years.  
  
She never won any of the athletic event all cadets compete in -- she was smaller, lighter than most cadets, and therefore at a disadvantage among most of her peers -- but she had a toughness, a tenacity that won the respect of even the Starfleet Marine gunny sergeant who taught small arms marksmanship.  
  
She did, however, distinguish herself during her senior year, setting a record that still holds at the Academy.  
  
She participated in an open judo competition against the Fleet Marines, losing eight matches in a row; eight matches where she'd been out-classed due to a computer glitch. Her opponents outweighed her by at least fifty pounds and towered over her. It was such a Mutt-and-Jeff combination that made spectators titter, knowing it was obviously a mistake.  
  
But when it became apparent she intended to go through with the match, silence filled the gymnasium.  
  
She'd hit the mat hard so many times over the eight matches spectators winced in sympathy with each fall. Eight bone-crunching matches that broke her nose, sprained fingers and bruised hips and knees. But she'd gotten up to fight again after every fall. Slower each time, to be sure, but she never failed to stand. Kathryn Janeway hadn't been nicknamed The Terrier as a plebe for nothing. She never gave up; she never quit.  
  
And so when the meal was over, and Terrel was called, Janeway got up from the table and moved steadily to the corner, her back and flanks protected by the walls. Terrel and Clazen closed in on her and it began. Each of the eight days started with this, a few moments of combat between the Kazon and Voyager's captain. There was never any question who would win. Sometimes, they would bring her down within seconds; yesterday, it had taken more than ten minutes for them to knock her down, drag her to the chair, and secure her arms and legs with the hard, sharp-edged straps. It would have been easier to offer no resistance; certainly, it would save her from collecting a new set of bruises and contusions to add to the ones she already had. But for the same reason she'd gotten up after eight knockdowns, she fought now.  
  
Some small part of her wondered why they didn't just keep her bound so the struggle wouldn't be necessary every morning. Perhaps it was some perverse sport. Perhaps some strange humanity. Or maybe they were just stupid. Whatever the case, each morning started the same.  
  
When she was secured and unable move more than a few inches, the real work would begin.  
  
Terrel would pull open his rusty case and fill the short, broad needled syringe with the yellow fluid. Clazen would turn her arm in its bindings to expose the vein at the bend of her elbow, and Terrel would plunge the needle in, slowly releasing the stinging drug until her head nodded to her chest and her body grew limp.  
  
They would ask questions and she would answer.  
  
What is the necessary thickness of the shielding on the food replicators?  
  
What is the differential between matter and antimatter in the warp drive?  
  
What is the power drain of Voyager's deflector shields?  
  
She told them whatever they asked, uncertain whether she was giving them accurate information or something the Doctor's barriers and Tuvok's mind-meld provided for her. And all the while, some small voice in her screamed for her to stop, lectured her on the sanctity of the Prime Directive she violated with each answer. Cullah came every day shortly after the drug took effect. Some questions he asked himself, but most of the time he just watched as her head lolled and she licked her lips, asking for coffee and pulling against her bonds.  
  
She was never sure how long these sessions lasted, but she was always exhausted, sweat-soaked and shivering when they stopped. They released her and helped her to the narrow bunk hanging from the wall, where she immediately fell into a dreamless sleep.  
  
When she awoke, there was another small meal on the table, with another small thermos of water. She ate and drank, and then soaked a corner of the blanket with a few drops of the precious water. She scrubbed her body until it was pink from the vigor of her efforts, and then sat on the edge of the bunk, thinking about Voyager.  
  
It was a routine that never varied. And this was the conclusion of the eighth day; she could tell because there were now eight punctures on her arm, surrounded by varying shades of purplish-yellow bruises. But on the ninth day of her captivity, the pattern changed. Clazen came as usual, bringing food and water, and Terrel arrived with his rusty case when Clazen beckoned him, but as soon as they had her secured, before the dreaded drug could be administered, Cullah stepped through the door.  
  
He stood before her, eyes raking her face and then lingering on her body. Unconsciously, she pulled her knees together, eyeing him warily. A small smile pulled at the corner of Cullah's mouth.  
  
“Have you enjoyed your stay here, Captain?” he asked. Janeway closed her eyes a moment, trying to control the anger that boiled up.  
  
“Not much,” she said through gritted teeth. “I'm afraid I wouldn't recommend the accommodations to my friends.”  
  
Cullah smiled broadly, showing his large, discolored teeth.  
  
“I don't understand that. Your Commander Chakotay had only the most complimentary things to say to me about his visit. But then, his stay was so short. Not like yours will be.”  
  
Janeway's stomach contracted. A lifetime with this brute.  
  
However long that lifetime might be.  
  
“What do you want with me, Cullah?” she asked.  
  
The Kazon leaned forward suddenly to grip her jaw.  
  
“Maj,” he said. “It's Maj Cullah. Captain.” He released her jaw.  
  
Janeway looked up into his face, hoping her stare showed the contempt she felt. She gave him an artificial smile. “What is it you want with me, Maj?”  
  
Cullah returned her smile.  
  
“Why, what you're giving me -- the pleasure of your company.” He turned to take a few steps into the room before turning back. “You're sparkling conversation.” He wandered over to the narrow cot, picking up the blanket she so carefully folded each morning. He dropped it and walked back to face Janeway.  
  
“And then there's the warmth of your smile. Simply irresistible.” Janeway blinked, hoping she was wrong about the turn in this conversation. She didn't say anything.  
  
Cullah nodded to Terrel, who opened his rusty case, but this time he pulled out two needled syringes. He filled one with the familiar yellow fluid. The other he filled with a liquid that was cloudy white. Clazen turned her arm to expose the vein, and plunged the syringe with the cloudy liquid in.  
  
The effect was immediate. Janeway gasped as the fire spread through her, sucking the breath from her lungs. She flung back her head to pull in air. Her arms and legs began trembling.  
  
They were talking to her, but she couldn't understand the,; the roar of the fire drown out their voices. She could feel her own lips move, but didn't know the words.  
  
She didn't know how long it took for the fires to die down, but the three of them were still standing across from her when the roaring stopped and she could breath again. She was slumped in her chair, soaked with sweat, and so weak and numb she barely took notice when Terrel injected her again.  
  
This time, Cullah did all the questioning.  
  
Did Seska and Chakotay share a bed while they were aboard Voyager? Did Seska share her bed with anyone else?  
  
Did Janeway share her bed with anyone? Did she have any children?  
  
She didn't remember them taking her to her cot, but when she woke she was in near-darkness. A small portable light sat on the table and she could make out Cullah's profile. She started to sit up and then lay down as a wave of nausea rolled over her. Cullah handed her the bowl of food. “Dinner?” he asked.  
  
She turned her head away. “No. I ... no.”  
  
An iron grip on her wrist. “'No, Maj.'”  
  
Janeway swallowed, fighting the nausea. “No, Maj.”  
  
The grip was released. “You should eat, keep up your strength” A pause. “You don't care for hyka meat?”  
  
Janeway closed her eyes and shook her head. The light from the lamp on the table made her head ache. Another pause, and the creak of Cullah getting up from his chair.  
  
“And acquired taste, I think.”  
  
He sat on the bed next to her. Janeway's eyes snapped open and she started to sit up  
  
. Before she had time to react, he had her wrists, pulling them and her to his chest. His mouth was on hers, his foul breath breathing into her, his tongue prying at her lips. She let him in -- and bit hard. He cursed and jerked her away, slamming her back on the hard mattress. He put a hand to his mouth and it came away with smears of dark blood. Janeway started to roll off the cot, to get her feet under her, but his open hand caught her across the face, turning her around and sending her crashing into the sharp-edged bar the made up the end of the bunk. It caught her between two ribs.  
  
The pain was enough to paralyze her, to make her forget for a moment that Cullah's hands were on her, turning her face to the thin pad that was her pillow, kneeling between her legs and pulling up the edge of her skirt. And then he was pushing at her, hands spreading her thighs, his huge organ nuzzling between her legs like some small animal. She twisted her torso, trying to pull away from him, but his big hands were jerking her around, pressing her down on the cot.  
  
Fat, spatulated fingers found their way into her, and then he entered her unyielding, unlubricated flesh, crowding into her, stretching muscles that wanted to deny access to him, grunting his pleasure as she cried out in pain and anger and humiliation.  
  
He rocked back slightly and then plunged deeper into her. Again, and again, building a satisfying cadence for himself, relishing the rhythm of Janeway's own cries against the pain.  
  
He came quickly, roaring his pleasure as he released his seed inside of her, falling on her back and crushing her into the hard cot. His weight was an agony, grinding the ends of her broken ribs against each other as he panted. He stayed that way for several minutes, and then rolled off of her, pulling up his trousers and buckling them. Stunned, the pain in her ribs making it impossible for her to take the lungfuls of air she need to catch her breath, she lay still, hands opening and closing on the thin mattress.  
  
“Until tomorrow, then, Captain.”  
  
The next day was the worst she'd had since her arrival on the Kazon ship.  
  
The pain of her broken ribs made it impossible for her to even sit up straight, much less move around with any ease. She wrapped an arm around her rib cage, willing her ribs not to move as she took small, panting breaths to fill her lungs. Most of the time, she lay on her side on the bunk, knees pulled up and locked together against the searing ache between her legs.  
  
Clazen brought her food and water, but instead of staying to watch her, he left her alone with her thoughts, her too-vivid imagination conjuring scenarios that made her unable to eat even the fruit and vegetables. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing calm, willing courage. She must have drifted off, either in sleep or unconsciousness. When she woke, Cullah was there, sitting alone at the table. Terrel's rusty case was in front of him, the syringe with the cloudy white solution in his hand. She tried to twist her arm away from him but he was too strong and quick.  
  
The fire dripped into her veins, driving all rational thought from her mind. The sweat poured from her body as she turned to ice, shivering until her teeth chattered. Far away, she heard someone screaming in fear and agony. It wasn't until she felt the rawness in her throat that she realized it was her own screams.  
  
She never moved when Cullah slipped the second needle under her skin, almost welcoming the relaxation of her muscles and mind, even though that same small part of her screamed for her to keep the walls up, to refuse his questions.  
  
He lay on the bed next to her, rubbing the needle puncture with his thumb, smoothing the hair from her face. Her eyelids began to droop, her vision of her tormentor to fade until she could only see his grinning face.  
  
“So, Captain, tell me about Mark ... “  
  
The screaming voice inside her grew louder. She forced her eyes open, fighting the drug that sapped her will and physical strength.  
  
No.  
  
Oh please no.  
  
Cullah had taken her mind, and her body, and now he was going to take her heart. Those sweet precious memories ...  
  
No ...  
  
Mark ...  
  


* * *

  
  
“I'm sorry, Kathryn, there's no way around it. I've got to catch the shuttle in fifteen minutes and I won't be back until the day after tomorrow.”  
  
Rear Admiral Jedney Thornbury, Captain Janeway's superior officer, stuffed computer chips into his slim briefcase and snapped it shut. He looked up and gave her a lop-sided grin. “Don't look so stricken -- it's only dinner, and Ambassador Tdor lays a good table.”  
  
Janeway tried to make her face look impassive, but didn't succeed. The Admiral laughed out loud.  
  
“Kathryn, I'm going to give you some career advice -- don't switch to the diplomatic corps. You may be one of the most transparent people I know. You'd be lousy at bluffing when negotiating.” He picked up his case, and started for the door, but stopped, suddenly serious.  
  
“Kathryn, if there was anyone else I trusted to go to this shindig and smooth the Ambassador's ruffled fur, I would. But there's not. I trust you. Hadley would drink too much and make a pass at Admiral M'Loys' partner. Jeff's leaving in the morning for Mars colonies to see about the construction on the Melbourne.”  
  
He put a hand on her shoulder in an almost fatherly fashion. “And besides, you're my chief of staff.”  
  
Janeway self-consciously fingered the new fourth pip on her collar. Chief of staff for Rear Admiral Thornbury, Commander of Pascagoula, Earth's largest shipyard. Three months ago, she's been Commander Janeway, in charge of warp drive construction on all the starships being built here. But then the promotion list had come out, and there, between Janadyn, Mylar P. and Janz-Tfer, Adrienne X. was Janeway, Kathryn M. Admiral Thornbury had called her into his office, shaken her hand, congratulated her, and then told her she was to be his new chief of staff, his second in command.  
  
It was an honor that caused grumbling among the more senior captains at Pascagoula, but Thornbury was no fool -- he knew a winner when he saw one. Within a month, production levels were up, accidents were down, and his wife was a lot happier since he actually got home for dinner most nights.  
  
He credited Janeway with the bulk of this -- Janeway, and the ouster of that buffoon Nikkols. Janeway was in the office before him every morning, and stayed well after he was gone in the evening. He'd heard rumors that she actually slept in the office and never went home, but he dismissed them -- he knew she had a dog; somebody had to walk and feed it.  
  
Otherwise, he might have believed it. The amount of work she accomplished was voracious. And the most remarkable part was she made it look so easy. While it was almost a written rule that chiefs of staff were slave-driving, snarling task-masters, foul of temper and intolerant of excuse, Janeway was always cheerful, always bright-eyed. The department heads respected and liked her, and never hesitated to go to her to straighten out problems or to get advice.  
  
Up-and-comer, thought Thornbury, not for the first time. Now, let's get some political savvy under her belt.  
  
He absent-mindedly patted her shoulder. “And stay for dessert. None of this skipping out after the main course.” The Admiral cast a glance over his shoulder. “Mark, make sure she stays for dessert tonight -- she's too skinny anyway.”  
  
Janeway noticed for the first time the man who had been sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs the Admiral kept on the far side of the room. He was dressed in civilian clothing and barely looked up from his padd. “Jed, you're bullying her. And if you don't leave now, you'll miss your shuttle and then you'll be able to go the dinner tonight after all.”  
  
The Admiral laughed and left in a rush, leaving Janeway standing in the middle of the office. She sighed. About the last thing she wanted to do tonight was go to a formal dress dinner.  
  
“I bet about the last thing you want to do tonight is go to a formal dress dinner.” She started, and whirled toward the man still sitting in the chair, padd in his lap.  
  
“What, you read minds?” she asked, slightly annoyed.  
  
He shrugged and stood up, crossing the room to where she was standing.  
  
“No. But Jed is right. You have a transparent face. It's not hard to read what you're thinking.” He stuck out a hand. “I'm Mark MacKenzie. I'm new around here.” Distracted with thoughts of finishing off the last production report before she left for the night and of getting her formal dress uniform ready in time, Janeway gave him a quick look and shook his hand. “Welcome aboard. I'm sorry I don't have more time to talk but I've got to finish a few things ... “ She gave him a quick perfunctory smile and strode out of the office.  
  
“Maybe I'll see you tonight ...” she heard him call after her. Despite her best efforts, she was still plucking dog hair from the tunic of her dress uniform as she walked up to Ambassador Tdor's front door. She smiled to herself. It was just about the same color as the Ambassador's fur, she thought. He'll never notice it.  
  
The uniformed attendant opened the door wide for her and bowed slightly. “Captain Janeway, the Ambassador is expecting you. And Mr. MacKenzie, how nice to see you again.”  
  
Janeway turned quickly to see the shipyard's newest employee behind her. He gave her a small smile. “We meet again.” Janeway noticed for the first time how attractive he was.  
  
Distinguished, she thought, that's the word for him. Athletic build. Blue eyes. I always was a sucker for blue eyes. And there's nothing like an old fashioned tuxedo to make a man's shoulders look all the wider. He was ... appealing.  
  
“So you're a guest tonight, too?” she asked.  
  
He took her hand and held it a moment, a gesture she found odd. His hand was warm, dry, and she was surprised at her disappointment when he released it. “Yes. Jed told me you'd be here tonight, too.” He paused a moment, then gave her a brilliant smile. “He also told me you could be a wonderful conversationalist and you'd make this dinner a memorable event for me.”  
  
Janeway gave him a startled look. “He didn't say that.” Mark shook his head. “No. But a man can hope, can't he? I hate these things ... rescue me, won't you?”  
  
Janeway couldn't help but laugh.  
  
The Ambassador swept into the ante room. “Mark! Captain Janeway! So glad you both could make it! A drink? I've got some champagne from the Picard vineyards -- Jed Thornbury told me to give his chief of staff a glass of good champagne and she'd be putty in my hands.”  
  
He ushering them deeper into his elegant home, introducing them to people as they passed. Vice Admiral Jhann. Ambassador Ulrant. Mr. James Grant of Mars Colony. Senator Sarah T'Pet.  
  
It was a Who's Who of the Federation. Janeway struggled to match names with faces and to at least look as if she knew what was going on. Damn Thornbury. It was going to be a long evening.  
  
“Don't worry. They won't remember you in the morning, either,” said Mark with a grin. Janeway hid her return smile in a sip of champagne.  
  
“I thought you said you weren't a mind reader,” she said.  
  
Mark's grin grew wider. “I lied.” Janeway gave him her full attention. Not only was he  
  
good-looking, but he had a good sense of humor, too. Maybe he was worth talking to. “So, Mr. MacKenzie, what are you going to be doing for Pascagoula?”  
  
He shrugged. “I'm going to tweak those warp drive engines of yours to see if we can stop ripping up subspace. I -- “  
  
Janeway put down her champagne. “Wait a minute. Are you Marcum Phillips MacKenzie? That Mark MacKenzie?”  
  
He was openly laughing at her now. “The one you've been incessantly calling for days to get a meeting. Well, here I am -- take a meeting.”  
  
Janeway blushed furiously. “You wouldn't return my calls. I've got three starships behind schedule because the Admiral wanted me to talk to you about this idea of yours before we moved forward with engine construction.”  
  
It was hard to keep the anger from her voice, but she saw only amusement in his eyes.  
  
“I came as soon as I could. I was on Vulcan until late yesterday, and when Jed said you'd be in the office today, I came in ... but you didn't have time for me ... “  
  
Janeway cursed under her breath. Damn Thornbury again for not telling her. She smiled and picked up her champagne and took his arm, moving him toward the deep wide sofa on the far side of the room. “Well, we have time now ... “  
  
Their discussion continued as they walked into dinner. Both lost in discussion, neither noticed that coincidentally they were seated next to each other. By the second course, guests were discreetly elbowing each other and smiling behind their napkins at the two, who had obviously found each other in a room full of strangers.  
  
“I don't know how you can be so mistaken, Kathryn! Of course you can increase the antimatter flow by 20 percent at the indexes passage. You just have decrease the flow when it hits the vernant membrane -- “ “Mark, you're trying to blow up my engines! If we do that, it'll overheat the drive shafts and -- “  
  
“Okay, so you'll have to make some minor adjustments with the design! That's a given! But what's the choice? Posting warp five throughout the quadrants? I'd like to see that!” It was a lively discussion, one that captured both of their interests so thoroughly that it wasn't until Janeway looked up to find her water glass that she realized they were the last two at the dinner table. The rest of the party had moved to the Ambassador's salon.  
  
“I think maybe we should join the others,” she said, standing abruptly, slightly nervous. Her first dinner as the shipyard's representative and she commits a faux pas. Well, maybe Admiral Thornbury wouldn't ask her to do these again ...  
  
Mark waved a hand. “Oh, don't worry. Sammi won't mind. He just wants his guests to have a good time ... you are having a good time, aren't you?” he asked, his eyes sparkling. Janeway sat down slowly.  
  
As a matter of fact, she was having a wonderful time; the best time she'd had in ages. “Sammi? You call the Ambassador by his baptized name?”  
  
Mark leaned back in his chair. “Actually, we went to school together. He's an ambassador now, but he has a sharp engineer's mind -- wasted on those diplo types. Whenever I'm in town, he feeds me.” The Ambassador an engineer? Maybe that's why he held Admiral Thornbury in such warm regard.  
  
Mark stood. “Maybe we should join the others. I understand Senator T'Pet promised to sing tonight. Have you ever heard her? She sings like an angel -- used to sing Klingon opera ... “  
  
Janeway looked up at him quizzically. Who was this man, who called the Ambassador by his first name -- a rare occurrence among the C'Hellans themselves, almost unheard of for a non-C'Hellan -- and who knew the pasts of Senators so intimately? She stood. “Yes, I think that's probably a good idea ...”  
  
It was after one when they finally left, Mark's arm linked through Janeway's. Neither said a word about it, but at the curb, Mark turned to the right toward Janeway's home rather than left toward his quarters. The light went on automatically when they approached the entrance to Janeway's home. They stopped at her door and stood looking at each other for a long moment.  
  
“Are you going to open the door?” asked Mark.  
  
Startled out of her reverie, Janeway placed her palm against the imprint in the center of the door. It opened silently.  
  
“Welcome home, Kathryn,” said her home computer. “You have three messages. Would you like to hear them?”  
  
Janeway stood in the doorway, facing Mark, uncertain what to do. “No, save messages.” He looked into the house. “Got any coffee in there?” She smiled and took his arm again, pulling him inside.  
  
“Coffee. Tea. Whatever's your pleasure.” And then she blushed, realizing the double entendre of her words. She saw the corner of his mouth quirk.  
  
“Coffee will be fine.”  
  
He followed her into the kitchen.  
  
“Computer, two coffees. Black?” Mark nodded. “Black.” She handed him his coffee. He took it from her --and put it on the table. He took her coffee from her hands and put it next to his cup. Janeway reached up and laced her hands behind his neck, pulling his mouth down to hers. His lips parted and his tongue automatically found hers. He wrapped his arms around her body, pulling her tightly against him. She could feel his heart beat quicken, matching her own. This is too quick, she told herself. You've known him for only a few hours, you know so little about him. Stop. This is a mistake. You'll regret this. She moved her feet apart, trapping his legs between hers. He caught his breath slightly and leaned into her. She could feel his rising arousal. Warmth spread between her legs.  
  
It's like I'm eighteen years old again, she thought. Eighteen years old and in heat over a man I barely know. This is a mistake. I know it's a mistake. Other people do this, not Kathryn Janeway -- unwavering, sober, focused Kathryn Janeway.  
  
And then he was pulling at her clothes, lifting her uniform tunic to unfasten her narrow trousers, pulling them over her hips. She pulled at the waist of his pants, finally finding the twisting fastener and undoing it, pushing them down to his knees and taken him in her trembling hands, stroking him slowly, steadily, fantasizing what it would feel like to have him inside of her.  
  
He moaned into her mouth, and pulled away, reaching down to still the rhythm of her hands.  
  
“Careful. That thing's loaded,” he said, breathlessly. Janeway grinned and pulled out a chair, gently pushing him down onto it.  
  
“I'm counting on that,” she said. She pulled her trousers off and joined him on the chair. He guided her onto him, his hips thrusting upward, rocking forward, until he was completely inside her. His mouth found hers again and she teased his tongue, rocking her hips in the same rhythm as her sucking. She tightened her muscles around him, and heard his groan. His hands pulled open her tunic and slipped under the thin chemise she wore, cupping her breasts. His fingers were warm, knowing. Giving into to her need, she increased the tempo of her movement. They made small wet sounds together, an erotic stimulant.  
  
She should feel Mark's breathing quicken, and he shifted his grip on her, wrapping arms around her back and arching hips to thrust more deeply into her. And then, with a cry, he came, nearly lifting her off the chair. She gripped him again, heard him gasp, released him, and tightened her muscles again.  
  
It was a long moment before he opened one eye and looked at her. “You may have ruined me,” he said.  
  
She laughed against his shoulder. “I hope not.”  
  
“I may never be the same ... don't you have -- agh!”  
  
Mark stood up abruptly, lifting Janeway with him. She clung to him, afraid she was about to be dumped on the floor.  
  
“What? What is it?” she asked, armed wrapped around his neck. She followed his gaze -- to Molly Malign, her Irish Setter, who sat serenely behind the chair they had been on just seconds before.  
  
“He licked my - er - “  
  
Janeway began to laugh.  
  
“This isn't funny, Kathryn. Do you suppose he was there watching us the whole time?”  
  
Tears of laughter began to course down her cheeks. “She. Molly's a she. And yes, she probably was. She usually comes down to be fed the minute I come home.”  
  
“Voyeuristic mutt ... “  
  
Janeway unwrapped herself from Mark and stood up. “She's not a mutt. She's an Irish Setter. A hungry one.” Janeway replicated some food and placed it next to the dog's water dish. And then turned back to Mark.  
  
He'd pulled up his pants, holding them with one hand. They stood looking at each other for a moment, both considering what they should do now.  
  
“I've got a bed upstairs,” she said, finally.  
  
Mark grinned.  
  
“I thought you'd never ask.”  
  
He finished what they had begun earlier, Mark's mouth and fingers finding the secret places that sent her body to tingling. She found it incredibly arousing, erotic, to watch him run his tongue up her leg, pausing to suck gently at the reddish birthmark on her upper right thigh, and then bury his mouth into her mound, teasing her clitoris. She cried out uninhibitedly, hands twisted in his hair, thrusting up and against his mouth, trembling with the need for release.  
  
And then she came, crying out his name, the flood of pleasure overwhelming.  
  
They slept entwined in each other's arms, sated with each other's body for the moment. She woke to a tickling on her neck, which traveled up her cheek to her eyelids. She let out an impatient breath and rolled over, pulling covers with her and tossing an arm out over Molly's body.  
  
“Your not supposed to be on the bed,” she muttered.  
  
“Okay. Where would you like me?”  
  
She started at the sound of the voice, forgetting for a fraction of a second he was there, and then let a smile creep over her lips. Opening her eyes, she looked up into his laughing eyes. He still held the twist of her hair he had used to tickle her face. She reached up and pulled his face to hers, kissing him slowly, deliciously.  
  
“Where would I like you? Ummm ... maybe another chair ... or the table this time ... or the shower ...”  
  
He rolled over on top of her, bracing his elbows on either side of her head, looking down into her face. His arousal was enormous, nudging between her legs. He rubbed it along her thighs.  
  
“I woke up with this damn thing like some eighteen year old kid ...” he said, grinning down at her.  
  
She ran her hands down his back, ending at his buttocks, cupping them, and then kicked off the covers to wrap legs around him. With one hand he reached down and slipped two fingers into her, and then held her open for him to slide into her.  
  
She sighed her pleasure. “A perfect fit ...”  
  
They moved together, their rhythms matching, slowly building, tasting each other, stroking with fingers and hands, as they built to their climax. Almost in unison, they cried out, as satisfying and practiced as two lovers who had known each other for years.  
  
Janeway curled into the curve of his body, pulling his arms around her like a blanket. His mouth was in her hair, at her ear. She closed her eyes, breathing in his soapy-musky scent. Exquisite. But time to come to earth.  
  
“I have to get up soon. With Thornbury out of the office, I should get in early.” He mumbled something she didn't quite catch. She continued on. “I'm not sure when I'll have time to see you again ... “ She could feel his body stiffen at the displeasure her words gave him, and then heard his muffled reply.  
  
“I have an appointment with you at nine. I set it up with your admin officer yesterday after you left Jed's office. I wasn't sure we'd have a chance to talk at the dinner.” She was surprised at the pleasure his words gave her. They'd have some time together during the day...  
  
“I'll have the coffee on,” she said, and rolled over to sit on the side of the bed. Mark put an arm over his head.  
  
“You and coffee. No wonder you go non-stop ...”  
  
She'd been at her console for two hours and was well into her third cup of coffee when Mark knocked on the jam of her open door. She looked up and grinned.  
  
“Right on time ... “  
  
He leaned over the console and kissed her lightly on the forehead. She rubbed it absent-mindedly, and moved around to stand next to him. She took his hand. “Come. I want to show you something.”  
  
They walked together through the industrial grudge of the shipyard where high above them wondrous starships were in various stages of completion. Finally, they stopped and Janeway pointed up.  
  
“Look.”  
  
She was beautiful, a sleek ship of the new Intrepid class Mark had only read about. “Voyager,” he said.  
  
Janeway nodded. “Yes. Voyager. Not the first of her class, but we've learned from the others and she'll be as perfect as we can make her.” Her gazed locked on Mark's face. “I want her to have your new warp drive innovations. Her engines aren't completely installed yet, but ... can you do it?”  
  
Mark's eyes traced the lines of her face, a face so full of emotion and intensity it was breath-taking. Or maybe it was her presence, her nearness, that was making him breathless. About now, he'd have told her anything.  
  
“Yes,” he said, “yes, I can do it for you ... “ When Admiral Thornbury returned from his meeting, he fully expected to hear nothing but complaints from his chief of staff about the purposeless of Ambassador's dinner parties, but instead he found her remarking on the opportunity it afforded her to discuss the new warp drive adjustments with Mark MacKenzie. In fact, she'd been discussing incorporating it into Voyager's engines with the engineering production staff.  
  
Thornbury smiled to himself.  
  
Yes, Janeway was coming along just fine. He'd make a flag officer out of her yet.

 

* * *

  
  
She adored making love to him this way.  
  
He lay back against the piled pillows, one hand on her thigh, the other buried in the tightly curled hair between her legs, fingers gently stroking. She moved up and down on his shaft, tightening and releasing, milking him.  
  
She loved watching his face as he came, his firm lips parting, eyes closing. His face contracted into a scowl, as if the pleasure were almost painful. He would cry out, back arching off the bed, hips thrusting up, pushing himself deeper inside her.  
  
And then he would concentrate on her, gently rubbing and probing with fingers and tongue until she cried out her own joy.  
  
How could it be, she thought, that there was a time without Mark MacKenzie? Afterward there was the talk. To Janeway, it was almost as good as the sex. “They're naming Voyager's captain tomorrow; did you know?” she asked, spooned against Mark's stomach.  
  
“You've told me twice today.”  
  
She wiggled her bottom against him. He jumped.  
  
“Hey! ...”  
  
“I'm betting Smythe-Jones gets it. He deserves it. I served with him on the Al Bantani. Or if he doesn't get it, Ming should get it. He was at the Academy when I was there, a couple of years ahead of me. Brilliant man.”  
  
“I leave tomorrow.”  
  
She froze against him. She had know this day would come. The redesign work on the warp drive was almost complete. Still, it chilled her blood, halted all thought.  
  
“It's gone so fast, the time,” he said. He put his lips to her hair. “Do you want me to stay?” He said it so quietly that at first she wasn't sure she heard him. Do you want me to stay? There it was, finally out in the open.  
  
Janeway tucked her chin. Did she want him to stay?  
  
The last three months had been as perfect as since the Academy. They shared so much ... sometimes she felt as if they didn't even have to talk, they knew each other's minds so well.  
  
But he was also a distraction. He made her mind wander with thoughts about the two of them. Her concentration had been off for weeks. She closed her eyes and thought of the ships under construction at the shipyard. They were splendid, compelling. And one day one of them was going to be hers. She knew that the day she reported at the Academy, nearly twenty years ago now. One day I will command a starship. It will take every bit of my intelligence and will and time and effort, but one of them will be mine.  
  
If that was to be true she couldn't be distracted by anyone or anything. As it was, she felt guilty about the time spent with him when she should be at the shipyard. Her stomach clenched. She'd only known him months, yet here she was, thinking of him when she was so close to the goal she had set for herself more 20 years ago. There was no choice in her mind, no matter how painful it was to both of them. All good things ...  
  
She got up and went into the refresher and closed the door. She stayed a long time. When she came out, he was gone.  
  


* * *

  
  
There was so much to do.  
  
She got to work with the sun. Two hours later, when Admiral Thornbury arrived, she had the morning status updates on his desk along with recommendations to allay the construction problems that had come up during the night. Then, with coffee cup in hand, she toured each of the ships under construction, talking to each of the ship's project officers in turn. Were they on schedule? If they weren't, what could she do to expedite? How was the morale among the construction workers? Has the engines/computers/environmental controls been tested on Ride/Hawking/Voyager?  
  
By noon, the requisitions for new construction materials or more workers had been personally reviewed by her. By fourteen hundred hours, she'd been down to the transporter padd to welcome Captain Vi Than, the prospective commanding officer of Voyager. By seventeen hundred, she's finished briefing him about the new warp drive improvements that had been installed. By nineteen hundred, she'd finished her oral report to the Admiral on ships' construction status. And an hour later, she was at her console, reviewing the reports and requests and official correspondence that had stuffed her computer mailbox during the day.  
  
Each night she staggered home, exhausted, to spend a few minutes with Molly on the patch of grass she called her yard before spooning up soup or munching the sandwich that most nights served as her dinner. Nine times out of ten, she was in bed less than an hour after arriving home. She fell asleep almost immediately.  
  
But dreams invaded her rest -- dreams of Mark, smiling at her, teasing her, making love to her. She woke up several times a night with tears on her cheeks or clutching her pillow with a desperate grip. Molly, distressed at her anxiety and occasional cries in the night, took to sleeping next to her, despite Kathryn's firm admonition that dogs slept in their own beds.  
  
Of course, the shipyard had never run so smoothly. Admiral Thornbury's wife adored her husband's new chief of staff. Her husband was home for dinner almost every night, thanks to Kathryn Janeway's frenetic work habits. Sometimes, Janeway found small containers of flowers from the Admiral's gardens on her desk, sent over by Barbara Thornbury in thanks for getting her husband home early the night before.  
  
And Janeway had to admit, Barbara Thornbury was one of her favorite people. Their relationships, as first, was one of mutual respect that had grown to genuine liking to true friendship. Two people were never so different -- Barbara Thornbury was a big, raw-boned woman whose greatest joys were raising her five sons, painting and gardening -- but they had connected immediately, emotional and intellectual twins who found each others' company enormously satisfying. So when Barbara Thornbury stuck her head in Janeway's office, looking for her husband, Janeway stopped what she was doing and beckoned the older woman in.  
  
“I think he's aboard Voyager with her new captain. He should be right back. Coffee?” asked Janeway.  
  
Barbara Thornbury seated herself in the only chair in Janeway's cramped office and sighed. “He's going to make us late. Again. Fortunately, Ambassador Tdor has come to expect it of him.” Janeway handed her the coffee, and leaned against her console, arms crossed.  
  
“Another dinner party?” she asked sympathetically.  
  
Barbara took a sip of the coffee, and then laughed. “Kathryn, I know you may find this difficult to believe, but I actually enjoy those parties -- so does Jed. Do you find them all so dreadful?” Janeway blinked. The memory of her last dinner party at the Ambassador's, more than four months ago, flashed into her mind.  
  
“No. No. They're not all so dreadful.”  
  
They remained silent for a few moments, and then Barbara spoke. “Kathryn, I'm sorry it didn't work out between you and Mark. You seemed so well suited ... “ She took a sip of her coffee, a distant look in her eyes. “Jed talked about you constantly to Mark -- Mark is like a son to Jed -- and I think that boy was a little in love with you before he even got here.” She put down her coffee and stood up, smoothing her formal dress. “I told Jed not to play match-maker, but he said you needed to find out there was more to life than Starfleet and a warp drive.” They stood silently, Janeway's face frozen, Barbara Thornbury's full of compassion, her eyes tearing. Impulsively, the older woman gave Janeway a quick hug.  
  
“I'm sorry Kathryn. I know how painful these decisions can be.” For a long time after Barbara Thornbury left, Kathryn stood at the window overlooking the shipyard. Above her, Voyager floated, suspended by the construction struts that held it from crashing to the ground. She was a beautiful ship, pure and sleek, one of the most elegant the Pascagoula yards had ever constructed. Her heart contracted with emotion by merely looking at it. And then without warning, the tears were on her cheeks. The pain in her chest was so intense for a few seconds she gripped her hands to her breast, thinking she might be ill. She loved these ships; loved the Federation that commissioned that they be built. There was a purity of purpose in them and in Starfleet that was noble; good. Space exploration and the accumulation of knowledge. Protection of the Federation worlds. Who could find fault with that? She had dedicated her life to those ships and the men and women who manned them. It was an exciting, challenging life and she served with joy and fulfillment. So why was it not enough now? Why, still, a month after Mark left, were her nights occupied with dreams of him and she was forced to fill her days with frenzied activities to keep thoughts of him at bay? She pressed her hands against the coolness of the transparent aluminum of the window, and then leaned her forehead against it. Can my heart be so small that it only has room for Starfleet and starships?  
  
She looked at her chronometer. Twenty hundred hours; eighteen hundred hours at Mark's home in San Francisco. He might be home. She sat before the viewscreen at her console, heart pounding.  
  
Please be home.  
  
And then he was there before her on the screen, dressed in formal attire like the first night they had been together, when they had gone to the Ambassador's dinner party separately and come home to her house. He looked back at her, shock and caution on his face.  
  
“Kathryn. This is a surprise.”  
  
Impulsively, she reached out and touched the screen, touched his face.  
  
“Mark. We need to talk. There's so much -- “  
  
“Mark, we're going to be late unless you come right now.” It was a woman's voice, high and light. In Janeway's mind she was beautiful, blonde and cool in white shilla and diamonds.  
  
Her chest hurt. “This isn't a good time,” she said.  
  
He shook his head. “We're just on our way out.” He hesitated. “Is there something you need?”  
  
She sat immobile, feeling a fool. He'd been gone a month. What did she expect? That he would be sitting around his house, moping? “No ... no. You better go. You'll be late.” She reached out to terminate the connection.  
  
“Kathryn --”  
  
She shook her head. “Sorry. It's late.” She touched the communication link and he was gone.  
  


* * *

  
  
It rained the next day, a gray cold rain that seemed to seep into her soul and not let loose. The day started badly, and went downhill from there. Thornbury had obviously stayed at the party too long the night before and snapped at her for being late to the morning staff meeting. Her administrative officer was being transferred tomorrow without a replacement. For the third time in as many weeks the bioneural circuitry in Voyager's system developed a virus that needed to be cured before it could go out for space trials. Starfleet had refused her request for the shipyard workers who would allow her to complete construction on the Hawking on time.  
  
And then to top it off, she'd slipped on the soaked and muddy catwalk above Voyager's hull and tumbled down six steps before coming to a stop, the breath knocked out of her.  
  
When she'd returned to her office, limping and filthy, Thornbury had taken one look at her face, returned to his office, and came back with a finger of bourbon in a glass.  
  
“I know. It's barely eleven in the morning. But it's been a long time since I've seen anyone need a jolt as bad as you.”  
  
Janeway gulped it, relishing the flame of the liquid as it coursed down her throat. “Now go home. Sleep. Take the dog for a walk. Do whatever you do to have fun. I just don't want to see you until tomorrow morning. Understood?”  
  
Janeway opened her mouth to protest, and then closed it. Arguing with Rear Admiral Thornbury was like debating with a rock.  
  
She walked home, the rain and grayness suiting her mood. She was wet and cold by the time she reached the corner of the street where her house stood -- and then heard the sharp excited barks of Molly.  
  
How had she gotten out?  
  
Janeway began to run, fearing the dog would gallop into the street and be hit by a surface vehicle.  
  
“Molly!”  
  
And then she saw him, teasing Molly with a ball held high over his head, the dog gamboling and barking like a mad thing in her play. Mark saw Janeway at the same time, and tossed the ball across the neighbor's yard, Molly tearing after it.  
  
“The door was still programmed to let me in,” he said, walking toward her. Janeway shrugged, not trusting her voice.  
  
“You're a mess,” he said.  
  
Molly galloped back, sticky ball in her mouth. Janeway knelt down and buried her face in the dog's neck.  
  
“That damn dog -- she wouldn't leave me alone, insisted I take her out to play,” he said, his voice light.  
  
“Hey, watch what you say about my dog; we're a team. Love me, love my dog,” said Janeway, her voice muffled against the dog's fur. There was a pause.  
  
“That so? Well, I guess I'm going to have to learn to love your dog.”  
  
She looked up, tears for the second time in two days staining her face. She swallowed.  
  
“A month ago you asked me if I wanted you to stay. I never answered you. Yes. I want you to stay. Don't leave me.”  
  
And then the three of them were in the mud of the yard, Molly in near hysteria with the pleasure of two faces to lick and smear with muddy paws.  
  
If she had thought she desired him before, it was nothing compared to the lust she felt for him now. Finally, he begged for mercy and they had fallen asleep in each others arms. She slept as she hadn't in a month.  
  
The vidscreen alarm went off twice before she was jerked to wakefulness. The screen was set for non-audible unless it was work or her family. In either case, when the alarm goes off at two in the morning, it was never good news. It was Admiral Thornbury.  
  
“Kathryn? Thornbury. Sorry to wake you but we have a bit of a situation here. Vi Than went off and got hisself killed -- run down by a surface vehicle, of all the damn things. Ming was next in line, but he's already been assigned. He's on his way to take command of the Justin. She's going deep space next week and they need an experienced skipper.” Janeway scraped tumbling hair away from her face, trying to salvage some dignity.  
  
“So it's Smythe-Jones?” she asked. “He'll need to start getting up to speed right away. I'll come in and start setting up an indoctrination program for him. He's never served on a ship of Voyager's class.”  
  
Thornbury shook his head, considering his words. “No, we've got somebody better in mind. We need somebody now who knows Voyager. She's almost ready to come out of the yard -- we can't bring a new captain up to speed at this late date.”  
  
Thornbury leaned back in his chair. Janeway noticed for the first time he was in full uniform. Full uniform at two in the morning? “I just got back from Headquarters. Kathryn, I recommended you to Starfleet for Voyager. You're a very junior Captain, you shouldn't get major command for another couple of years, and you've just started your tour here, but ... hell, you've got a damn impressive record, and we need you; there's no one better for the job. Starfleet agrees. You're Voyager's new captain.”  
  
He leaned toward the screen, a pleased smile on his face. “Why don't you sleep in to celebrate? Be in here by zero six thirty.” The Admiral leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck, the smile fading and a look of displeasure taking its place. “Hell of a thing, finding a new chief of staff when I've just broken one in. Maybe Hadley can stay off the fydorick long enough to shuffle some papers for a change ... first thing to take care of tomorrow. G'night, Kathryn. And, er, congratulations..” He leaned forward to touch the disconnect, but then paused.  
  
“And give my best to Mark, will you?”  
  
The screen went blank.


	2. Chapter 2

The ache in Chakotay's head had nothing to do with the injury inflicted on him by Cullah.  
  
The Doctor had healed the wounds of his body days ago, assuring him there was no permanent damage. A hairline skull fracture.  
  
Concussion. Cracked ribs and broken fingers. Nothing of lasting consequence. Two days SIQ -- sick in quarters -- and three days light duty and he would be fine.  
  
No. Physically, he was fine; what made Chakotay's head ache was the pain in his soul. More than any physician, he knew the fundamental connection between his mind and his body and his heart. An unbalanced soul sickened the heart and body as sure as any disease or physical injury. There were those who denied this to be true. He knew them to be wrong.  
  
When the Doctor had released him from sickbay, he'd gone straight to the bridge -- a bridge that was his now, although it revolted him to think so. It was an irony that made his heart heavy. Every cadet who walks under the arching Starfleet Academy entrance knows they have joined for one reason, and one reason only -- to command a Starfleet starship; to sail among the stars and explore that which no one has seen before. And he'd been no different.  
  
How inexplicable that his most fervent desire -- albeit a desire he'd put behind him when he resigned his commission to join the Maquis -- was accomplished at such a price. He despised it. Every command he issued, every decision he made, every inspection he completed was a reminder that he was the commanding officer of this ship only because of his own faults and selfish desires. If he hadn't lain with Seska, if he'd been stronger and resisted his impulses, perhaps he's never have let the Cardassian have so much power over him, never have let her have so much information.  
  
If he hadn't let his emotions get the best of him, perhaps he wouldn't have gone of half-cocked to get the computer core back from the Kazon when they'd stolen it. Perhaps Cullah wouldn't have been so eager to wreck havoc on Voyager and Captain Janeway.  
  
While no one would say it -- or even think it -- he knew that he was responsible for Cullah taking Janeway, and if the Captain never returned, it would be his fault. He looked around the table in the conference room, at the half dozen faces turned to him for guidance, for approval.  
  
They'd met every day over the last nine days, sharing information, ideas, thoughts on how to get Captain Janeway back.  
  
They'd had a plan from the first day, and had refined it, rehearsed it in body and mind, until it was now an automatic, as much a part of them as a memory.  
  
A high speed beam out. They would find Cullah's ship and then fly at it at top speed, beaming Janeway out as they passed. It hadn't worked when they had tried to beam Chakotay off the Kazon ship more than ten months earlier, but Torres had spent every moment since they'd decided on this action to adapt the transporters and circumvent the jamming device the Kazon had used. The young engineer assured them problem was resolved, although the transporters couldn't be used for anything except high speed beam outs until they were recalibrated.  
  
The warp engines were being fine-tuned by Carey for the short burst of speed they would need to whip past the Kazon ship. Chakotay hadn't seem him out of engineering since the Captain was taken.  
  
Paris practiced the high-speed approach to the Kazon ship over and over again, on the bridge and in the holodecks. There was a grimness about his mouth that Chakotay had never seen before.  
  
Even Kes and the Doctor -- they had been accessing all records they could find to help the Captain recover from whatever the Kazon inflicted on her. They were ready. Each and every one of them knew exactly what had to be done. But today's meeting wasn't about a rescue plan. Today's meeting, the agenda set by Tuvok, was about ... contingency planning.  
  
Chakotay knew it was unjust and unreasonable to be angry at Tuvok; he knew the Vulcan was right to allow the Captain to trade herself for the captive crew members. He also knew the Vulcan was correct in bringing up this subject. Still, the first officer's anger at the distant security officer refused to cool. It was a caldera, ready to explode and spill over.  
  
“I believe the barriers I induced in my mind-meld will withstand any onslaught for up to three weeks. After that, I can not be sure,” said Tuvok.  
  
The Doctor on the tabletop viewscreen nodded sagely. “I calculate the barriers I put in place would last about that same amount of time. Perhaps a few days' less, perhaps more. It is difficult to calculate without real data.”  
  
“She knows this?” asked Chakotay, trying to keep his voice cool, emotionless.  
  
The Doctor nodded. “Yes. It is why she insisted on the poison chip under her thumbnail. If she thought that they were breaking down the barriers, she intended to use it.”  
  
Chakotay looked around the table, into the faces of the officers under his command. They were aware of all this, but he could see the renewed horror in young Harry Kim's face, the stony acceptance in Paris', the bright tears in Torres' eyes.  
  
Chakotay rubbed his eyes and the bridge of his nose with flexed fingers. If only his head didn't ache so.  
  
“Three and a half weeks, then? Four weeks?” he asked the people around the table. “We search for four weeks and then we start back for home?” And desert the Captain -- a Captain who by then was more than probably dead by her own hand.  
  
There was silence at the table. Chakotay knew it was a decision that he alone would have to make.  
  
He looked at Tuvok, sitting so peacefully, so at ease at the end of the table. Damn the man, he thought. He hated the Vulcan for the agenda set today, for forcing the issue none of them wanted to face. And yet, in doing so, he revealed his perverse wisdom. Tuvok was pushing for a decision to be made, to give the crew a sense of urgency, but also allow them the needed time to adjust to the fact that the chances were they would never see the Captain again. Space was a big place; finding Cullah's ship was like finding a mote in God's eye.  
  
Chakotay closed his eyes a moment, and then looked at those solemn faces again. He couldn't say the words. He couldn't say that words that doomed Janeway to an eternity in this quadrant.  
  
“We'll meet tomorrow, same time,” he said.  
  


* * *

  
  
She woke naked, her thin dress in a pile on the deck beside her bunk. Her head throbbed; her body ached as if she had fallen down a flight of stairs. She shivered in the chill of the room and reached for her clothing and the thin blanket that had tumbled from the bed, and wrapped them around her, a shield against the assault she had endured. Cullah. Cullah had taken the last bit of herself she had kept from him. Mark had sustain her, had been the inspiration that had kept her going from each day -- each hour, each minute -- to the next. Mark, and the knowledge that Voyager was coming for her.  
  
For the first time, the tears came, and she began to doubt if she would be able withstand the punishment Cullah was inflicting on her. She wiped them away and absent-mindedly chewed on the edge of her thumb, the thumb with the poison chip embedded under the nail, stopping only when a bead of blood welled up. She rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger. Her own blood, warm on her fingertips. They had driven her to this; to spilling her own blood; to considering an end to her plight before it was ... necessary.  
  
And then, somewhere deep inside of her, unexpectedly, the flame ignited. Not a flame, really, but a spark, a bit of warmth, smaller and weaker than that provided by a candle. She held on to it, nurtured it, let it feed on her soul until it grew, became sustained.  
  
It warmed her blood, soothed her heart.  
  
It was a small thing, but it dried the tears and assuaged her doubts. Cullah would not triumph over her.  
  
She wiped the blood on the hem of her dress.  
  
After that, except for Terrel, who brought her bowls of food and water bottles, she was left alone for more than a week. The first two days, she turned her back to the Kazon, not even acknowledging his presence. But as the days wore on, her thoughts and her pain her only companions, the desire for some kind of communication outweighed her need to show disdain.  
  
But Terrel only sneered at her questions and comments, plunking down the water and the never-changing food on the table, and leaving her alone again.  
  
She began to loose track of time. The lighting in her cell never changed, never giving her any hint whether it was morning or afternoon or night. Her best gauge of the passing time was the level of her hunger. But she also began to suspect that the periods between her feedings wasn't regular. Sometimes she was so ravenous she thought a hole was gnawing through her stomach; other times she had no appetite at all.  
  
And then one night she awoke to find herself and her bunk drenched in sweat, her teeth chattering against the chills that shook her body. Overcome by nausea, she dragged herself to the primitive refresher on the opposite side of the small cell. She vomited repeatedly, the retching coming in uncontrollable waves.  
  
When it finally subsided, she struggled to her feet and lurched to the table, bracing herself against it. She'd saved a few ounces of water in the thermos Terrel had left, and she swished it around in her mouth before swallowing it. It tasted bitter and foul, but she could tell she was becoming dehydrated and couldn't afford to waste a drop.  
  
Unexpectedly, another chill took her, and her knees begin to buckle. She stumbled towards her bunk, but was unable to make it there before she fell, knees ramming into the floor and striking her side against the metallic bar at the end of the bed.  
  
The agony drove the breath from her, radiating inward from her ribs -- the very ribs she had broken. She tried to draw air into her lungs, but could only coughed in spasms. She gasped like a fish, unable to catch her breath. The thin metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Another spasm of coughing shook her and the blood spilled over her lips, spattering on her chin and hand.  
  
Gods, I've punctured a lung, she thought frantically. I'm going to bleed to death right here and there's no one to help me ...  
  
For the first few minutes, the thought that she was going to die, alone, in this stinking Kazon cell, was of great importance to her, but as the pain faded and thought blurred it became only a minor issue. When Terrel came in, turning her so he could see her face, she tried to push him away, tried to make him leave her alone. His calls for Cullah disturbed her quietude ...  
  


* * *

  
  
Chakotay rarely left the bridge, except to attend staff meetings and to sleep. During the first week, he'd tried to continue his routine of calisthenics and running, but he'd barely put on his exercise gear when his edginess and anxiety drove him back to the bridge. It was impossible for him to concentrate on anything but getting the Captain back. Intellectually, he knew Tuvok and the rest of the bridge crew would notify him immediately if Cullah's ship was detected, and he could be back on the bridge in minutes, but somehow ... somehow, remaining on the bridge was less of a desertion of the Captain.  
  
So he was there, staring unblinking into the forward viewing screen, when Kim let out a short cry and called for Paris to drop out of warp. Chakotay was on his feet.  
  
“What is it, Mr. Kim?”  
  
Kim's face was flushed, excited. “A Kazon ship ... I think ... I think it's Cullah's ... it was on the edge of our sensors. I didn't want them to detect us ... “  
  
Chakotay's heart skipped a beat. Cullah ...  
  
“Well done, Mr. Kim. Did they detect us? Can we track them?” The young Ensign hesitated. “I don't think so ... as for tracking them ... we'll have to be careful ... “  
  
“Commander, I believe I know where they might be going. I projected their course ... I believe they may be heading toward this solar system” -- Tuvok flashed it on the forward screen -- “the one Mr. Neelix called the Faerrion system. There are two class M planets there, one of them with what appears to be abundant water reserves.”  
  
A gamble. Was Tuvok right? They could circumvent Cullah's ship and arrive at the system before the Kazon. They could hide in the limn of one of the planet's moons and when the time was right ...  
  
But what if Tuvok was wrong, and they lay in wait for a ship that never arrived. They would lose the Kazon ship again. And there was so little time left ...  
  
Today was Stardate 49778.5. Three weeks and one day ago Captain Janeway beamed out of the transporter room and onto Cullah's ship. Every day -- every minute -- that passed was another step closer to the end of their search for the Captain.  
  
Chakotay closed his eyes. The wrong decision and it was the Captain's death. Surely the gods couldn't be so cruel, when they were this close. He opened his eyes.  
  
“Mr. Paris, a course to Mr. Tuvok's system, please. And find us a nice hiding place where we can jump those bastards. Mr. Tuvok, let's get ready for a little surprise party.”  
  
The bridge bustled with activity. Only Chakotay had nothing to do.

* * *

  
  
She couldn't open her eyes.  
  
“I know you're awake. Look at me -- now!”  
  
It was an order. There was no warmth or caring in the voice; only impatience and scorn.  
  
She struggled to raise her eyelids, wanting desperately to obey, but found it impossible.  
  
Slap!  
  
The pain across her cheek snapped her eyes open and she found herself looking into the face of Seska -- or the woman who had once been Seska. Now, she looked more Cardassian than Bajoran; more reptilian than human.  
  
“There. That's better.”  
  
Janeway raised a shaking hand to her cheek. It was hot, blood rushing to it in response to the blow.  
  
“Kathryn Janeway. Well, the shoe is certainly on the other foot. You'll have to accept my orders now.”  
  
Janeway stomach turned at the sneering voice. Seska. Seska was dangerous, on the edge.  
  
“Water?” Janeway asked, surprised at the weakness of her voice. Seska gave her a small condescending smile, offering her a cup half filled with water. Janeway reached for it, hands trembling. She spilled its contents on the bunk before she could get it to mouth.  
  
“Stupid!” Seska sneered. She poured another half cup and brought it to Janeway. The Cardassian lifted Janeway's head from the hard pillow and held the cup to her lips. She drank gratefully, then fell back, exhausted and out of breath. Seska put the cup back on the table and began to pace the room, as if waiting for something or someone.  
  
“You owe me your life, you know,” said Seska. “You almost died. That fool Terrel -- the only thing he knows about is Kazon medicine, and then only if means sealing wounds or treating bunions. If I hadn't stopped the bleeding, you'd be just more space debris by now.” Janeway fingered the thin metallic patch over her injured ribs. It was painful, but not as bad as before. Seska must have partially healed her.  
  
“Your ribs punctured your lung -- you were bleeding out right there on the floor. If Terrel hadn't come in when he did, it would have been too late -- “  
  
The scrape of the door, and Cullah came in. He cast a quick glance at Janeway, and went to Seska. Janeway watched Seska. Was it her imagination, or did she see a flash of fear in the Cardassian's eyes? “Will she live?” he asked.  
  
Seska smiled, stroking his face intimately “Of course, Maj. I healed her.”  
  
Cullah walked to where Janeway lay, looking down into her face. Janeway felt the warmth in her stomach flare.  
  
“She looks white. Is that normal in humans when they are injured?” he asked.  
  
Seska stood where she was. “Sometimes. When the injury is severe.”  
  
Cullah tilted his head, still looking at Janeway.  
  
“Is she gravid yet?”  
  
There was silence in the room. Cullah turned quickly, speaking directly to Seska.  
  
“Is she?” he asked, harshly.  
  
Seska's voice was placating, soothing. “I told you it might take a while. Human and Kazon genetic composition is significantly different than Cardassian and human. If only you didn't insist on this conventional method of -- “  
  
Cullah slammed his fist down on the table, knocking the thermos of water on its side and sending it rolling to the floor. In the far corner of the room, Janeway heard a long, high pitched cry. Seska went to it, and picked up the source of the cry -- an infant. She made chucking sounds and held the child to her, never taking her eyes off Cullah. “If I didn't know any better, I'd think you weren't really trying to help me,” he said, his smile showing a lot of teeth.  
  
There was no mistake now -- Seska was afraid of Cullah. Janeway could see it in her eyes. “Maj, you know I won't do anything to oppose your wishes. I helped Terrel with the fertility drugs, with the genetic adapters. You can ask him. Without my help -- “  
  
Cullah took two long steps to her. “You say you would do nothing to oppose me -- yet you betrayed your own people to take up with us. And then you steal the seed of your former lover to make this ...” He waved his hand at the infant.  
  
Seska held the infant tighter to her breast. “I explained all that, Maj. They were never my people ... and the infant is only a tool to use against them. They will not be so quick to fire on this ship when they know Chakotay's child is on board.”  
  
“I wonder, Seska. I wonder if you don't care about him still.” Anger flashed in Seska's eyes. “Your jealousy is bending your thinking, Cullah. Care for him? I hate him!” A light of understanding filled Seska's eyes. “Is that why you brought her aboard, why you're keeping her? To torment me? You were paying me back for the child? To make a child with her to use against me?”  
  
Cullah leaned toward Seska, and took her chin in his hand. He kissed her hard, moving lips and teeth against her. Seska pulled back, trying to break his hold on her. When Cullah finally released her, there was blood on her lips -- and arousal in her face. He smiled.  
  
“We don't need her, Cullah. Jettison her. You've got all the information you're going to get from her. I'll make you a child ...,” Seska said huskily. “She's excess baggage now.”  
  
Cullah cast a glance at Janeway, huddled under the blanket.  
  
“Maybe you're right ... “  
  
Janeway struggled to sit up, to get into some kind of defensive position. No matter how weak she was, she was going to give them a fight. It happened so fast that afterward she wasn't sure if she could keep the sequence of events straight.  
  
“Bridge to Cullah! It's Voyager! She's heading straight for us at better than warp nine! We're trying to lock on to fire -- “ Cullah took two long strides to Janeway, jerking her off the bunk. “They're after her, trying to beam her off the ship! Get the jamming -- “  
  
The last thing Janeway heard before the familiar tingle of the transporter took her were Seska's screams of rage. It was a rewarding sound. And then she was home.  
  
Torres was there, as was Kes, rushing forward with blankets and tricorders, calling for the anti-grav gurney. Janeway closed her eyes a moment, and when she opened them, Tuvok was leaning over her, his dark face still and solemn.  
  
Then there was Chakotay, not waiting for the gurney, but picking her up and carrying her like a small, sleepy child being taken to bed. She closed her eyes again, drifting away into a warm and quiet place.  
  


* * *

  
  
For the first time since she had been taken by the Kazon, she woke without pain; without the gnaw of hunger; without the damp, enervating cold that sapped her strength.  
  
It was pure joy to feel such comfort. The smooth, warm softness of the coverings on the biobed caressed her skin. Sometime during her sleep, her body had been provided with nutrients and fluids to dull the craving for food. And the most blissful of all, her battered body had been healed, leaving her whole once more. But with a stunning suddenness, the memories flooded her, the memories of what Cullah had done to her; of what Cullah and Seska together had done to her. She had become a pawn in their jealous games of power. Together, they had taken all that had been important to her and shattered it. They had picked her mind of the knowledge she had amassed over a lifetime of study and experience. They had violated her body, turning what should have been a joy into the detestable. And they had taken her most tender of memories and turned them into a repugnant nightmare. She wished for the return of the pain, the cold, the hunger. They distracted her from the consuming feelings of fear and fury and humiliation -- and the ache of her heart.  
  
She pushed back the bed coverings and sat up.  
  
“Doctor!”  
  
There was a sparkle of light, and he was there, walking toward her with medical tricorder in hand, glancing at the readings above her bed. “Welcome back, Captain. I take it you feel better? Ah -- no, Captain, I don't think you're quite ready to get out of bed yet --”  
  
Janeway ignored him and looked in the storage unit next to the bed.  
  
“Get me a uniform. Now.”  
  
The Doctor gave her an exasperated look. “Captain. You may feel better, but you have a cornucopia of drugs in you that need to be cleansed from your system, and you still suffer from exposure, dehydration, and the residual effects of three different retro-viral infections -- retro-viral infections, in this day and age! Those Kazon are uneducated animals. Not to mention a rather lengthy list of other physical and psychological injuries that I'll discuss with you after you're rested. But right now, it's three in the morning, and you need to get some additional rest.” Janeway crossed her arms and gave the doctor a cool look.  
  
“Uniform. Now. I'm going to take a shower and when I'm done, I expect my uniform to be here.”  
  
It was a battle of wills, and not unexpectedly, Janeway won. She turned her back on the Doctor and went into sickbay's refresher. Someone -- Janeway suspected it was Kes -- had gone to her quarters and brought back some of her things. Her favorite scented soap. Pins for her hair. A peach colored robe. A small thing, this act of kindness, but it made her eyes tear.  
  
She pulled the regulation medical gown over her head and looked at herself in the mirror. A stranger looked back. How could she have grown so pale and thin in so short a time? She wrapped her arms across her breasts self-consciously.  
  
She turned the water on full, turning the spray to needle intensity. It was painful, satisfying. She stayed there a long time, scrubbing herself over and over until her skin was rubbed raw and her hair was a tangled mat. The dryer blew the last drops of moisture from her body and she pinned her hair up in her old familiar style, using the hair fasteners she had been deprived of for so long. While she had been in the shower, someone had placed her uniform on the back of the door, along with undergarments and her boots. She dressed, pulling the waist tabs tight. And then she looked in the mirror again.  
  
She thought that once she was back in uniform, she'd feel more like her old self again; that she wouldn't feel so haunted. But the face that looked back at her in the mirror mocked her, the uniform was a sham. It didn't even fit her, the shoulders too wide, the material at the hips sagging. After being barefoot for more than three weeks, even the boots felt odd.  
  
They were waiting for her when she came out -- Kes, a look so grave on her face that Janeway averted her eyes; the Doctor, disapproval set on his holographic features; and Chakotay, slightly unkempt, as if he had dressed hurriedly. He gave Janeway an appraising glance, taking in her too-big uniform, her pale lips, the gray circles under her eyes, her nails bitten to the quick. Janeway knew he saw far more than she wanted him to see.  
  
“Captain, I think we might be able to get along without you for a few more days,” Chakotay said, trying to keep his voice light. “I thought you'd like to take some time off ... and the Doctor says he'd like to keep you here for a few days.”  
  
Janeway's stomach twisted. If she stayed in sick bay, without distractions, thinking about Clazen and Terrel and Cullah and Seska ... she smiled briefly at her first officer, the smile not reaching her eyes. “I'm sure I can complete whatever medical procedures the Doctor wants on an outpatient basis. I'm fine. Really.”  
  
The Doctor shook his head. “Captain you are not 'fine.' I still have many bio-neural scans to complete, and there ... “  
  
“Computer, end program,” she said.  
  
Kes and Chakotay watched the Doctor fizzle away in a wash of sparkles. There was silence for a moment, and then Janeway cleared her throat. “Tomorrow, see if you can get B'Elanna to do something with his programming, will you, Chakotay?” said Janeway.  
  
Chakotay eyes were hooded, revealing nothing. “Aye ma'am.” “I'm going to take a quick tour of the ship, and then I'd like to meet with the senior staff at zero seven thirty. I'll need an update on the status of all systems. If you'll stay after the meeting, we can discuss personnel issues.”  
  
She saw few people in the passageways at this time of the morning, but those she met stopped her, amazed she was already out of sickbay, happy to see her. Some of them shook her hand with a solemn look in their eyes; some just smiled and told her how happy there were that she was back. The irrepressible Ensign Stevens started to cry and hugged her, sniffling noisily and telling her she never doubted the Captain would come back to them.  
  
By the time she got her quarters, she was exhausted. She gulped down coffee -- double strong, double sweet -- and wandered around this stranger's quarters filled with things that were a faint memory. She sat on her bed, then stood up again, wandering. These quarters, this ship -- they didn't belong to her. They belonged to someone else. They belonged to someone bold, competent, eager for new adventures.  
  
The thought that that person was gone stoked the fire in her.  
  
At seven twenty-five, she put down her coffee cup and went to the bridge. “Attention on deck!”  
  
Paris called out the old-fashioned phrase used for centuries to announce the arrival of a ship's captain to the bridge. Startled, heart pounding, Janeway came to an abrupt halt as she exited the turbolift. The bridge was crowded with her officers, all of them smiling at her, some of them with tears in their eyes. Slowly, at first, and then with more enthusiasm, applause began, filling the bridge until it seemed to rock the room. Even Tuvok, standing at his security console, was applauding, welcoming her back to the ship. Don't do this to me, she thought. Do you know who you're welcoming back? I don't.  
  
“At ease!”  
  
Her voice came out sharper than she intended. The applause immediately stopped, replaced by some embarrassed coughs and shuffling of feet.  
  
“The Captain has a busy day ahead of her ... as we all do. Shall we get to it?” said Chakotay quickly, trying to mask the Captain's abruptness.  
  
The crew began to shuffle away, some with puzzled looks on their faces.  
  
Janeway escaped to her ready room. The senior staff filtered in, taking their regular places around the table. Chakotay was the last to arrive.  
  
“Well, people, it's good to be back,” she said, shuffling the padds that sat before her on the table. “Now, let's work our way around the table. B'Elanna, how's the warp drive?”  
  
It took more than two hours to get up to speed on what had happened aboard Voyager during her absence. Included was Tuvok's narrative about how they had developed the plan to retrieve the Captain and her subsequent rescue. She smiled at them warmly, an old flash of pride in their skills in her face.  
  
Then they filed out, leaving only Chakotay and Tuvok behind. Janeway looked at Tuvok questioningly.  
  
“I have an appointment with Commander Chakotay, Tuvok. Is there something urgent you need to speak with me about immediately?” she asked, slight impatience in her voice.  
  
“I asked him to stay,” said Chakotay, quickly. “It's an unpleasant subject ... we'll have to do an evaluation of how much damage was done in this quadrant thanks to the Kazon's information retrieval techniques ... “  
  
Neutral words for such brutal acts. Janeway flushed. “I think that can wait a day or two.” Tuvok shook his head, hands clasped behind his back.  
  
“Captain, I have consulted with the Doctor and he has determined the Kazon were able to undermine the barriers he was able to effect. He cannot tell how much information they retrieved, or if the additional barriers I constructed with our mind-meld were effective. Another mind-meld seems to be -- “  
  
“You consulted with the Doctor about me without my permission?” Janeway snapped, her face tight with anger.  
  
Impassively, Tuvok answered. “As chief of security on this ship, it is essential I investigate what information and technology you might have transferred, albeit unwillingly.” Jane's stomach churned. Although Tuvok was her closest friend aboard Voyager, the thought of Tuvok privy to what had happened to her ... no ... not yet. Not now. Just a few days. Time. She just needed a little time to get her feet under her, to put some distance between herself and the Kazon and Seska.  
  
“I think this can wait a couple of days, Mr. Tuvok,” Chakotay said quickly. “I have a few things that need the Captain's immediate attention.”  
  
Tuvok remained standing before Janeway and Chakotay, stubbornly insistent, knowing the essentialness of his purpose. Should his Captain have provided the Kazon with key technological information, steps needed to be taken immediately to combat the damage. “Commander, I fail to see what might be more important -- “  
  
“Later, Tuvok,” Chakotay said, a slight edge to his voice. There were a few seconds of silence in the room, and then Tuvok lowered his chin slightly in acquiescence, and left, leaving the Captain and first officer alone.  
  
“Now, personnel issues ... “ Janeway picked up her padd to camouflage her trembling hands, a ploy that didn't work.  
  


* * *

  
  
There was so much to do.  
  
She arrived on the bridge before Alpha shift to consult with the night duty officers before they went off duty. She personally did oversight on the overhaul of the life support systems. She reallocated personnel and planned a new rotation schedule to allow for more cross-training. She worked with stellar cartography to investigate an idea Harry Kim had had to detect wormholes. She visited every department daily to ensure compliance with Starfleet guidance and regulations. And then she returned to the bridge again, wandering from station to station, rarely sitting in her command chair, rarely speaking except to issue an order.  
  
Every night, when she finally, reluctantly, left the bridge, she reeled to her quarters, awash with exhaustion. She tried to eat the food the Doctor programmed into her replicator, but found it as unappealing as the Kazon hyka meat.  
  
And every night, the dreams were the same. Clazen and Terrel, twisting her arm to expose the vein, and plunging the needle in. Cullah's face, leering above hers, hands spreading her thighs, plunging into her despite her screams of protest. Seska, holding the baby she had made with Chakotay's stolen genetic material, telling Cullah to jettison her, jettison her, jettison her ... And then Mark's face, the familiarity of it fading with each day, full of reproval ...  
  
She woke several times a night with tears on her cheeks or clutching her pillow with a desperate grip. And during those sleepless, endless nights, the fire grew in intensity.  
  


* * *

  
  
Chakotay opened his eyes slowing from his meditation. These mornings, meditation had become a necessity, a way to soothe his soul. Throughout his life, he'd meditated, but had found once or twice a week sufficient to keep in balance. When his life faced a crossroad -- the death of his father, his decision to leave Starfleet, his encounter with Seska and the knowledge that he was to be a father -- he sought solace in additional meditation, often linking it to a sojourn with his spirit guide. But it wasn't a personal crossroad he'd reached now. No, what troubled him now was Voyager and Captain Janeway.  
  
Voyager was not a happy ship. A darkness hung over the ship, almost like smoke from a recently extinguished fire.  
  
When Janeway had been taken, the crew had been unhappy, but there had also been an unshakable goal for them to work for, and it had bound the crew together more tightly than any common uniform.  
  
Now though -- it was true that the top influences all. One only need glance at Janeway to know she was tormented, on the edge. It affected the entire crew; even the Doctor had commented on it, threatening to relieve her of command if she didn't comply with his psychological evaluation of her. Only when the captain had threatened to delete him had he desisted.  
  
It wasn't as if the entire crew wasn't trying to help her, trying to reach out to pull her from whatever gripped her, whatever prevented her from returning to them. They wanted her back -- all of her, not just her physical self. The empathetic, supportive, trusting woman was gone. In her place was one so emotionally bereft that she wouldn't even hold a conversation in a brief shared turbolift ride.  
  
B'Elanna, worried about the Captain and wanting to help re-establish the warm friendship the two had before the Kazon, had repeatedly asked her to team up with her to play pool with Tom and Harry. Each invitation received a perfunctory rejection.  
  
She refused Tom's request for her to see the new enhancements he'd incorporated into Sandrine's.  
  
She never ate in the common dining room.  
  
She avoided Tuvok, her closest friend and confidante, as if they were estranged lovers. And the coffee she shared with her first officer before morning staff meetings was a thing of the past.  
  
She had effectively isolated herself, refusing even the briefest of human contact. Chakotay sighed. He was uncertain what to do. Her pain was such a palpable thing that it affected his everyday balance. He wanted to help her, wanted to help guide her through this, but knew that she would turn him away, just as she had turned away the others. Some of the very characteristics that made her such an exceptional captain -- tenacity, thoughtfulness, mental and emotional toughness -- prevented her from accepting help from anyone on Voyager.  
  
Chakotay sighed again. Well, it wasn't as if he were really the ship's counselor and this was his responsibility. True, many of the crew came to him when they were depressed or anxious or having relationship problems. He tried his best to help, consulting with the Doctor's psycho-analysis program and reading as much as he could on the subject. But this was beyond him. Yes, he'd had some experience with the Kazon, but his “visit” had been three days, not three weeks.  
  
He shook his head. Who was he trying to fool? He wasn't worried about the Captain out of concern for the ship. The three weeks Janeway had been with the Kazon had been a living hell for him, knowing what they were doing to her.  
  
Kathryn Janeway. Damn you. I curse the day I put on this uniform and agreed to be your second it command, forever building an unscalable wall between us. If I'd known then what I know now ...  
  
He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, then letting out slowly, calming himself.  
  
The time would come. There would be an opening and he would seize it, make her talk about it, and help her come back to her old self. Until then, he could only watch -- and be patient.  
  


* * *

  
  
She avoided it for days, always finding an excuse. But now, all the excuses were used up, and she knew it was her duty.  
  
They sat side by side on the sofa under the stars in her ready room, turned to face each other. It was all she could do not to flinch at his touch. “Captain, I want to assure you again that this will remain confidential,” said Tuvok coolly. Janeway closed her eyes, willing calm, practicing the relaxation techniques she found so helpful. Still, her heart raced, her palms were sweaty. She knew this mind-meld -- this invasion of her thoughts, of her privacy -- was necessary, but she was terrified of it, terrified that it would bring it all back, that she would never be able to bury it and leave it behind. She let out a long slow breath.  
  
“I'm ready. Let's get this over with.”  
  
He placed fingertips on her temple and cheek, slowly and gently applying pressure ... The only women Tuvok had ever melded with were his wife and his Captain. His melding with his wife had been an orderly thing, a deepening of what they already knew of each other, a final bonding of what was a life-long mating.  
  
With Janeway -- chaotic was the only word he could think of to describe it.  
  
In his previous melding with her, he noted that her thoughts were disorganized -- knowledge linked with past emotions, sensual memories linked with intelligence, creativity linked with logic. It had been disconcerting, but it had been nothing like this. There was no way to probe cleanly, no way to simply follow the paths he traced before when he attempted to build the walls to protect her mind. It was if he was in a stadium filled with screaming people, all of them projected their most violent emotions, all of them telling him their stories of pain and degradation and fear.  
  
He wanted to pull away, afraid of being tainted by all these thoughts, but gritted his teeth, probed on, searching. And then, buried among these thoughts, he found a perverseness, a thought of such unexpected clarity it caught him off guard. It revealed to him the Captain's ability to maintain, to withstand what the Kazon had done to her and continue on despite it all. It was a flame, waiting to be fanned into a conflagration. Finding it in Janeway's mind, it was an obscenity, like finding a favored piece of art had been tarred and mutilated. It sickened him.  
  
Revenge. Her need for it seemed to grow with each second of their mind-meld. She wanted Cullah and Seska and the crew of the Kazon ship dead -- no, more than dead. She wanted them to died in agony, and she wanted to witness it with her own eyes. It was at the forefront of her mind always. It was the reason she breathed, the reason her heart beat. It sustained her, was her reason for being  
  
He was breathing hard, sweating, when he broke away. Next to him, Janeway slumped against the sofa, pale and trembling.  
  
“Captain.”  
  
She didn't respond at first, and then put her face in her hands. “Captain ... “  
  
She took a deep shuddering breath.  
  
“Did you find what you needed?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Tuvok touched her arm to get her attention, immediately withdrawing it when she looked up at him, surprised that he, a Vulcan, would touch her.  
  
“Captain. I am distressed that you should be under such extreme duress.”  
  
She looked at him blankly. “Did you find what you needed?” she asked again.  
  
He hesitated, then nodded. “It seems you were able to prevent them from obtaining much of your technical knowledge.” He cleared his throat. “The barriers were helpful, but I attribute much to your own ability to withstand their ... techniques at obtaining information.”  
  
She nodded. “That's good news. Please let Chakotay know.”  
  
Tuvok stood, looking down at her. “Captain, I wish to express again my concern over your mental state. I would like to be of assistance to you ... “  
  
Some small part of her chuckled at the irony of the emotionally reserved Vulcan trying to help her through this. She tried to smile at him, but failed.  
  
“I'm stronger every day, Tuvok.”  
  
Tuvok stood unmoving. The Captain was lying to him, but he didn't think it was appropriate for him to point that out to her right now. “I will report our findings to Commander Chakotay,” he said, finally.  
  
Janeway nodded, looking out among the stars. She didn't turn when he left.

* * *

  
  
Most Terrans believe Vulcans are without emotion.  
  
While it's not true, Vulcans do little to correct this mis-conception, probably because it would be perfectly satisfactory to them if it were true. In reality, Vulcans feel the same emotions as most humanoids do. The only difference is their desire and ability to control them, to channel their emotional energy into more logical endeavors, such as pedagogical pursuits.  
  
From birth, Vulcans are guided towards lives of perfect emotional control. Tears of fear or pain or joy are repressed. Laughter met with reproval. Grief hurriedly dismissed. This curbing of all emotions was the result of the Great Enlightenment, when Surak and his followers advocated an austere, pure life of no emotion as an answer to the violence and destruction the Vulcans were inflicting on themselves. Theirs was a history is filled with stories of horrors resulting from jealousy, rage, greed, hate -- Brother turned against brother, mother against son, sister against brother. Although ancient, the blood that stained the arid ground of Vulcan as a result of emotions is never forgotten; only pushed into a dark recess few wished to acknowledge.  
  
And to display emotion -- to inflict emotion upon others -- is a great show of weakness. It was because of this weakness, his capacity to feel, that Tuvok sat motionless, in the h'vok trance that helped him cleanse the filth of violent feelings from his mind. He had expected to experience abhorrence emotions as a result of melding with Janeway. But the reality of it was much more terrible that he'd expected.  
  
From his interviews with Chakotay after the first officer had been taken prisoner by the Kazon more than ten months ago, and from his knowledge of Cardassians and other brutal cultures, he'd deduced what the Kazon would inflict on his Captain. Unfortunately, he'd been nearly completely correct.  
  
He thought he'd braced himself for the onslaught his meld with Janeway would deliver, but he hadn't expected this. He hadn't expected her terror and pain and fear to fuse into a need for revenge so total it colored every waking thought she had. He knew it would be days before he would be in balance with his true self again. In the mean time, he would practice the h'vok and fast until cleansed.  
  
But this wouldn't solve the real dilemma he faced. The impact of the meld on him was a simple problem, solved with logic and self-mastery. No, the real problem was Kathryn Janeway.  
  
He had suspected she continued to suffered from Cullah's treatment. Perhaps those less observant than he, or who didn't know her as well as he did, didn't notice that her hands trembled, and that silver threads had appeared in her hair when there were none before. Her uniforms, which for some reason she refused to replace, hid her body but Tuvok observed she continued to lose weight.  
  
He understood now, although not completely. It was impossible for him, a Vulcan who had vigorously pursued repression of emotions for decades, to fully grasp all she had endured. Cullah's assault was coldly calculated to break down Janeway's body and mind and spirit. He had been close to success.  
  
Yet something with Janeway had fought back, had found an avenue to follow to keep her from slipping away into madness.  
  
Revenge. Of all the human emotions, he found it the one he understood the least. It was a most illogical emotion. There was no benefit from it; it fulfilled no physical need nor did it fulfill a physical pleasure. It produced nothing. He didn't understand it, but he recognized its destructive nature. It was a poison, more deadly than the poison extracted from the gaarn seed, for it not only ate away at the well-being of the body, it ate the soul as well.  
  
Tuvok opened his eyes slowly, arising from the h'vok trace , focusing on the problem of Kathryn Janeway. He was her friend, the individual she was closest to for tens of thousands of light years, and she needed his help.  
  
But logic dictated that he wasn't the one to help her. One of his paternal grandmother's favorite sayings was, “Don't send an armless man to milk the b'than.” Tuvok knew, despite his devotion to his Captain, despite his desire to help, he simply wasn't capable of it. She would not accept his counsel, nor would he know what words he needed to say to assuage her pain.  
  
Tuvok stood and straightened his uniform. There was probably only one person aboard Voyager who could help his Captain. It wasn't a conclusion he'd come to easily, but it was the truth.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Tuvok sat opposite Voyager's first officer, both of them cradling their beverage of choice in their hands. In Tuvok's case, it was a root tea that smelled pungent, acerbic. In Chakotay's choice, it was coffee. It was Tuvok who had initiated this meeting.  
  
“The barriers I helped construct for the Captain were not intact, Commander, but I am confident they sufficed. A few days more, I think, and the Kazon would have battered them down and the Captain would have provided them with all the information they requested of her.”  
  
Chakotay smiled wryly at the Vulcan. “The information they 'requested' of her?”  
  
Tuvok's eyebrows sloped up. “A poor word choice.”  
  
“Yes. Yes I think so.” The first officer took a sip of the coffee, waiting for Tuvok to leave.  
  
“Commander, there is something else I wish to discuss with you.” Chakotay sighed inwardly, not wanting to continue this discussion any longer.  
  
“I am concerned about the Captain. She has undergone an experience that has left her seriously scarred. I offered to assist her ... “  
  
Tuvok was stating the obvious, and it annoyed Chakotay that the Vulcan would want to talk about such private things with him behind the Captain's back.  
  
“She's been terribly hurt, Tuvok. She'll need some time to get over this,” he said, hoping Tuvok would drop it.  
  
Tuvok shook his head. “It's more than that. In my mind-meld ...” he hesitated, as if unsure if he should go on, knowing he walked a narrow line between protecting the Captain's privacy and helping her.  
  
Chakotay felt uneasiness wash over him. The Vulcan had unearthed something during his mind-meld that was so important that he felt the need to consult with the first officer about it. It shouldn't be taken lightly. He put down his coffee and leaned forward, giving Tuvok his full attention.  
  
“What?” he said quietly, a slight urgency in his voice. Suddenly, between them, their two near-empty cups jiggled on the table. The men looked at each other in surprise. The ship's inertial dampeners should prevent even the slightest oscillation. Only during the most extreme maneuvers would such vibration be detectable.  
  
“First officer to the bridge. Security officer to the bridge.” Kim's voice, contained but tinged with something that gave away that this was more than a routine page, came over their communicators. Both officers jumped up and headed for the turbolift.  
  
The tension on the bridge was palpable.  
  
“A quantum filament, I think. It came close,” said Paris, his voice slightly breathless.  
  
“How did you know it was coming?” asked Chakotay, stepping forward to stand next to the Captain, who was staring into the viewscreen. “We received a distress call,” replied Kim. “They said they'd be hit by forces unknown. We started looking ... “  
  
“So we were looking for something -- and we found it; a filament, heading straight for us,” concluded Paris. “We were able to maneuver out if its way just in time.”  
  
Chakotay put a hand on the pilot's shoulder. “Good work, Mr. Paris.  
  
“And we also found the source of the distress call,” said Kim.  
  
“It's Cullah's ship,” said Janeway. “They've been hit.”  
  
Chakotay's head snapped up, eyes narrowing. So tiny it appeared only a fleck of light on the big screen, it took Chakotay a moment to see it.  
  
“It's definitely Kazon,” said Tuvok from his console. “And they seem to be dead in space.”  
  
“Magnify, Mr. Kim,” said Chakotay.  
  
And there it was, a fuzzy picture fading in and out as the magnification mechanism attempted to trap the image.  
  
“The quantum filament appears to have struck them broadside,” said Tuvok.  
  
“Mr. Paris, our ETA to intercept?” asked Janeway, her voice tight with the emotions she was trying to control.  
  
Paris tapped his console. “Three minutes at warp seven.”  
  
Janeway lowered her chin slightly. “Intercept, Mr. Paris. Tuvok, shields up. And I want weapons targeted on them as soon as we get into optimum range.”  
  
If Tuvok was surprised by the order, he didn't show it. Paris gave his captain a quick glance. “Aye, Captain. Course laid in. Two minutes fifty seconds to intercept.”  
  
Chakotay, standing next to Janeway, could sense her breath quickening, could see the brightening of her eyes in her pale, thin face. Standing behind her command chair, she gripped the back of it with both hands so tightly that her knuckles were white; much tighter, he thought, and the bones were going to pop through her thin skin.  
  
“Hail them, Mr. Kim,” she said, her voice cool; an act. In the abnormal quiet of the bridge, Chakotay could hear Kim's fingers tap the communications panel.  
  
“Their communications must be out, Captain. I'm not even getting static from them.”  
  
Janeway balled one fist and hit it against the back of her command chair.  
  
“Weapons targeted, Captain. Although it appears their weapons systems are also off line. I read only life support and auxiliary systems operative,” said Tuvok.  
  
Janeway's expression never changed. “Target two photon torpedoes amidships the Kazon vessel, Mr. Tuvok.”  
  
The silence on the bridge was palpable. All eyes turned to Janeway. Targeting a helpless ship ...  
  
Chakotay took half a step closer to Janeway. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. “Captain ... “  
  
Janeway kept her eyes forward, ignoring him. Chakotay felt the panic rise in his heart. He had to stop her from saying the words that would destroy the Kazon ship. He cared little whether Cullah and Seska lived or died. Life with the Maquis had taught him not to hesitate when his enemy lay helpless. But Janeway ... Janeway was Starfleet. Janeway's moral principles would never allow her to perform such a savage act and live with it. It would consume her, warp her, haunt her until there would be little left of the woman she is. She would be destroyed. She was on the edge of the abyss. He had to stop her from leaping.  
  
“Captain ... “ He said it again, so softly he knew that only she could hear him. “Don't.” Chakotay raised his hand to place it on the Captain's shoulder, but dropped it. “They're helpless.”  
  
The image of Cullah's ship filled the screen now. She closed her eyes against it.  
  
“Mr. Kim, can you tell their status? Are they in any immediate danger?” asked Chakotay. There was a pause as Kim scanned the Kazon. “Their engines are off line, Commander, but there's no indication that they're in danger of a breach.”  
  
The quiet on the bridge was deafening, a screaming silence that made it impossible to think. Chakotay prayed for Janeway, his soul screaming out to her, begging her to stop, to save herself ...  
  
A sigh. Janeway opened her eyes, and turned to her first officer. Her face was blank, but her eyes were rimmed with red, an indicator if the battle within.  
  
“Pass them by, Mr. Paris,” she said, her voice expressionless. “Warp nine.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Twice, Chakotay raised his hand to touch the door chime, and twice he dropped it. Instinct told him this was the right moment. Hesitate, and the opportunity might be lost. He quickly touched the chime.  
  
There was no response. He touched his comm badge.  
  
“Computer, where is Captain Janeway?”  
  
“Captain Janeway is in her quarters.”  
  
Chakotay frowned. He touched the chime again. No reply.  
  
Puzzled, a little concerned, he checked to see if the security lock was on, and was slightly surprised to find it wasn't. He opened the door, and peered in.  
  
The lights were off, the illumination coming from safety lighting and the stars through the long, narrow portholes. He could see Janeway silhouetted against them. He walked in, the door automatically closing behind him.  
  
She didn't move when he approached, simply continued to stare out at the stars. She had left the bridge more than an hour ago. He wondered if she had been standing there the entire time.  
  
“Captain?”  
  
Fingers pressed against lips, eyes bright, she only shook her head slightly at the word.  
  
“Can I get you anything?” he asked, knowing it sounded absurd, but not sure what to say. She shook her head again.  
  
He put a hand on her shoulder, fully expecting her to shake it off.  
  
“Captain, are you ill?”  
  
Finally, she turned to him, face white in the starlight, lips trembling. Her eyes were dilated, dark, like twin pits.  
  
“I nearly destroyed them,” she said. “A defenseless ship, dead in space. The innocent ... “ Chakotay waited for a few seconds before saying anything.  
  
“Innocent is not a word I would associate with Cullah -- or Seska,” he said with rancor.  
  
She shook her head. “No. No. Not them. The child ... Seska's child ... she said we'd think twice before we'd fire on them with the child aboard.”  
  
Chakotay's stomach lurched. Intellectually, he'd known that Seska would have bore her child by now, but his heart had refused to accept it. But now ... here was Janeway, telling him the child existed, and that Seska was using it as a shield. He labored to still the seething rage that leaped though him.  
  
Janeway continued, oblivious to the pain her words had caused him. “I almost obliterated them without a thought ...” Her face twisted. “No, not without a thought. That's all I'd thought about since you rescued me. Their destruction. Their deaths. At my hands. I wanted them to pay for what they did to me.”  
  
She edged away from him, toward the porthole, as if wanting to step out into the cleansing void of space.  
  
“I wanted them to pay,” she repeated, addressing the stars. He put hands on her shoulders firmly, turning her toward him. He held his breath.  
  
“What?” he asked gently. “What did they do to you?” She was frozen, mouth falling open slightly, and then, slowly, inexorably, she took a step forward and put hands on his chest, grasping the material of his uniform in clenched fists, clutching it like a lifeline. Without thought, he put arms around her shoulders, holding her against him, feeling the winged beat of her heart, like that of a frightened bird.  
  
The sobs came then, so painful, so wracking, that Chakotay felt his own heart contract at the sounds. The tears soak through his uniform to burn his chest. He didn't move; didn't make a sound, fearful she would break away.  
  
And then she began to talk. Some of what she said was incoherent, jumbled with sobs and incomplete thoughts. But some was of such clarity and vividness that he felt himself begin to shake and the bile rise in his throat at the realization of what had happened to her.  
  
They stood there, under the sloping porthole, for more than an hour, until Janeway's voice and sobs quieted and she began to sag against him.  
  
“Captain?” he whispered.  
  
Asleep. She was asleep on her feet.  
  
He loosened one arm, stooped, and picked her up, carrying her to her bed, leaning over her. Her hands were still entwined in his uniform. Gently, he tried to untangle them.  
  
“Don't leave me.”  
  
Her voice was slurred, so soft that he thought he must have misunderstood at first.  
  
“Don't leave me.”  
  
His heart expanded, froze. Don't leave me ...  
  
He lay beside her, cradling her in his arms, stroking tumbled hair from tear-stained cheeks. Her breathing grew slower, the grip of her hands on his uniform lessening. She slept, curled against him, face hidden against his chest.  
  


* * *

  
  
The steep walls of the abyss were smooth and icy, offering few handholds. She dug her toes into its surface, curling fingers into the tiny cracks. Inch by inch, she crawled up, only to slip and fall back, ripping fingernails and scraping skin from palms.  
  
Three times she tried, each time climbing a little higher, but only to fall back again into the icy darkness.  
  
The fourth time, she was able to see the dim light at the top, feel the slight stirring of air that blew across the mouth of it. Arms trembling, toes aching with effort, she stopped for a moment to rest. At first she wasn't sure if it was some trick of the wind, but then it became clearer. A voice. A man's voice, calling to her in such whispering tones that she couldn't make out the words.  
  
“Mark. Mark?”  
  
She reached up, seeking a crevice, but couldn't find one. Clawing with broken nails, she tried to dig into the wall, tried to making her own handhold, but was unsuccessful. Legs trembling, hands bleeding and contracting with the effort to hold on, she slipped and fell to the bottom, slamming onto her back, knocking the wind out of her.  
  
As soon as she was able, she tried again, more slowly this time, scratching deeper toe and handholds. A hour later, she was still climbing, arms and legs screaming with the strain.  
  
She paused, taking a breath.  
  
And then she heard it again. Mark's voice. She was sure of it this time, although she still couldn't make out the words. He was far away, calling to her. She was only half way to the top, and her legs and hands and arms were beginning to disobey her, refusing her will. She fell again, tumbling to the bottom, hitting elbows and knees. The tears came then -- tears of frustration and pain and sorrow. It was too deep, this pit. The walls offered her no handhold. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she wanted to reach Mark, she could not escape.  
  
“Kathryn.”  
  
It was a caress of a word, not Mark's whispered one, but a woman's, clear and low; gentle.  
  
Janeway stood up. “What? Where are you?”  
  
“I'm here, up here. Climb out.”  
  
Janeway looked at her battered hands, torn and bleeding. She flexed them and found they would not close. She looked up. “I can't. I can't do it. It's too deep, the walls are too steep.” She looked up, tears staining her cheeks. “I'm afraid I'll fall.”  
  
The woman's soft words came to her again, confident, comforting. “Try. Try again, Kathryn. I'll help you. I know we can do this together. Reach for my hand. I'll pull you up.”  
  
Trembling, Janeway began her climb, inching her way up the walls of the abyss. And then she looked up and a strong hand was on her wrist, pulling her up, steadying her, helping her. Breathless, she reached the top, tumbling over the edge and into the arms of her rescuer.  
  
“You'll be all right now,” said the woman.  
  
Janeway slipped down on the ground beside the pit, gathering her strength. She looked up to study her companion, and was surprised to see she was an old woman -- slim, strong, but her long hair, bundled at the back of her head, was silver in the dim light of the twin moons above, and her face was cris-crossed with innumerable tiny wrinkles. For some reason, she looked familiar. The old woman sat down beside her. “Thank you,” Janeway managed to choke out. “You saved me. I couldn't get out by myself. I'd tried, but kept falling back ...”  
  
The old woman nodded. “I know. You needed some help. Sometimes, no matter how strong we are, there are times we all need help.” She smiled slightly. “When you're strong, when you lead, sometimes it's hard to take the help that's offered. It's like we're admitting a weakness, a failure.”  
  
Janeway looked up. “How do you know what I do? Do you know me?” she asked, perplexed.  
  
The woman smiled broader, showing strong white teeth. “Oh yes, I know you. Better than you know yourself. You're Captain Kathryn Janeway, captain of the Federation Star Ship Voyager.”  
  
There was a hint of mockery in the woman's voice, not derogatory, but teasing.  
  
“Yes,” said Janeway, a hint of pride in her voice, not understanding the woman's manner.  
  
“I'm Voyager's captain.” The woman look away, up into the stars.  
  
“Captain of a starship. The best job one could ever have. But lonely at times.”  
  
Janeway nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes.” She swallowed. “Especially out here.”  
  
The woman continued to look into the stars, and spoke so softly that Janeway had to lean forward to hear her. “Yes. So alone in the Delta Quadrant. We're all so alone here. We can't do it alone, you know. Even captains of starships need a helping hand sometimes.” That trace of mockery was back.  
  
Janeway looked into the woman's face, mostly hidden by the night. “I'm not sure ... there's no one I can turn to ... “ she said, her voice uncertain.  
  
The old woman snorted. “You can be an impossible woman, Kathryn Janeway. There's hardly a man or woman on board who wouldn't die for you, just as you offered your life for them. They admire you, respect you -- even love you. And you're turning away from them. Haven't you learned yet that one of the greatest gifts you can give is accepting the help that's offered?”  
  
Janeway shook her head. “You don't understand. I'm their captain; it's my job to keep them safe. I must be strong for them, help them when they need it ... “  
  
The woman was silent for a moment, and then stood, looking down at Janeway. “I've got to go -- I'm staying with my grandchildren and they worry about me if I stay away too long on my night hikes.”  
  
Janeway rose to stand next to her. “I can't thank you enough. You saved me.”  
  
The woman put a hand on Janeway's shoulder in a familiar gesture. “I just extended my hand; you took it. That's the important part; to take the hand that's offered ... “  
  
She started to walk away, but Janeway stopped her.  
  
“Please, won't you tell me who you are?”  
  
The older woman paused, and looked back, eyes crinkling above her smile. “You know who I am, Kathryn Janeway. Just look in the mirror ... “  
  


* * *

  
  
She was warm, and relaxed, and safe, waking for the first time in weeks without the jolt of panic that made her heart pound and sent nausea rolling through her stomach. She could hear soft, rhythmic breathing at her ear, and the curve of a body around hers, nesting like spoons. Arms were holding her snug, secure. It had been so long since she felt this way that it felt foreign, out of place. But welcome.  
  
And the fire that consumed her, the acid on her soul, was gone. . In its place was a coolness, caressing her, calming her Chakotay sighed deeply and rolled over in his sleep.  
  
Unexpectedly, her eyes stun with tears. Chakotay. What had she ever done to deserve such a loyal second-in-command, such a consoler of her soul? He was her first officer, but also a healing friend; a brother.  
  
He sighed again, and she felt his body stiffen slightly as he woke enough to realized where he was. Janeway smiled to herself. It was as if she could read his mind: “Oh Auku Chemoiya, I'm waking up in the Captain's bed ... “  
  
She rolled over to face him, raising a hand to grazed his tattoo. “Good morning ... at least I think it's morning ... “ she said softly, letting the smile on her lips creep into her voice. Chakotay raised his hand to stroke her hair away from her face, an automatic reflex.  
  
“Computer, what time is it?” he asked.  
  
“It is zero five thirty.”  
  
Janeway could feel his deep exhalation. “Captain, I'm sorry, but I have to get up; I'm due on the bridge in fifteen minutes ... “ Janeway untangled her arms and rolled over to watch him as he got up and attempted to smooth his sleep-wrinkled uniform.  
  
“I think I'll sleep a little more,” she said.  
  
He reached down to touch her shoulder. “A good idea, I think,” he said. He stopped, uncertain what to say next. “We'll talk again.” He said it as half a statement, half a question.  
  
Janeway smiled at him, and reached up to take his hand in hers. “Yes. We'll talk again.” She swallowed, the tears coming to her eyes. “I can't thank you enough, Chakotay.”  
  
His eyes darkened, and held a secret she couldn't begin to understand. Looking down at her, he shrugged. “I didn't do anything. I just listened.”  
  
The tears drifted to her cheeks. “Just the same ... thanks. I needed a helping hand and you gave it to me.”  
  
Chakotay nodded awkwardly and left quietly, checking the passageway to make sure it was clear before he exited.  
  


* * *

  
  
Janeway was on her knees before the small bin where she stored her personal items from her ready room when Chakotay entered. She leaned back on her heels, holding a photograph and a strange chunk of rock in her hands as he walked over to her. She reached up her hand and he pulled her to her feet.  
  
“Coffee, Commander? My treat.”  
  
Chakotay smiled. “Yes. Black.”  
  
Janeway stopped to place the picture on her console before ordering the two mugs of coffee from the replicator. Chakotay noticed it was Mark and her dog.  
  
Janeway lead him over to the sofa pushed under the portholes, looking out among the stars. To Chakotay's surprise, she kicked off her boots and curled her feet under her.  
  
“Everything okay on the bridge, Commander?”  
  
Chakotay nodded and took a sip of the coffee. There was some chicory in it, he was sure. She smiled at him -- a warm smile that lighted up her face. “I know you like it this way. I thought I'd try it, too. Not bad.”  
  
Chakotay smiled and took a second sip, waiting for Janeway to begin. She took at deep breath, and let it out. “I've made some progress in the last few weeks, I think,” she said.  
  
Chakotay nodded. Indeed, she was almost the old Janeway, her uniforms fitting her better and the bright color returning to her cheeks. She even began visiting Sandrine's again, teaming up with B'Elanna to beat Tom and Harry at pool.  
  
Still, it would be a long road back. Even the inimitable Captain Jean-Luc Picard, who was able to take advantage of Starfleet's best medical and psychological teams, took months to get over the damage done by the Borg, and later, the Cardassians. And he had been their captive only days -- not three weeks as Janeway had been.  
  
She sighed again. “I want talk to you about something else besides the Kazon,” she said. “I had a dream that first night we talked. I'm not sure what it means. You see, I was in a pit ... “  
  
Chakotay leaned back against the sofa, listening carefully. The old Janeway. Something told him that the old Janeway would never be back, that an irrevocable change had taken place. She'd certainly been less distant with the crew than she had been in the past, more willing to take part in some of the ship's events. As far as he knew, she'd completely given up on her solitary holographic novels and instead had spent several evenings designing scenery for Voyager's next Shakespearean production. He watched her facial expressions, the movements of her hands as spoke. Different. There was something different about her now, but he wasn't sure if it had anything to do with the Kazon.  
  
“ ... and then she said to me, 'That's the important part, to take the hand that's offered.'” Chakotay put down the mug, and took her hand lightly, his heart beating fast. “And you have.”  
  
Janeway looked at him, and then away. “Yes. I guess I have.” She smiled to herself. “Admiral Neycheyev would definitely not approve if she knew how familiar I've become with my crew.”  
  
Chakotay shrugged. “She's seventy thousand light years away. The rules are different out here. We have to make our own rules.”  
  
Janeway took a sip of her coffee. “I guess you're right,” she said, finally, pulling her hand away.  
  
She untangled her legs and began pulling on her boots. They were both silent, until she stood up and stretched.  
  
“Well, Commander, the famous Voyager Shakespearean Players premiere their new play tonight. I think there's some type casting going on -- Tom is playing Puck. Would you care to go with me?”  
  
Chakotay gave the picture of Mark a quick glance, and then shook his head. “I'd love to, but if I don't catch up on the admin work, I may never be able to dig myself out.”  
  
Janeway gave him a wry grin of understanding, then quickly checked her chronometer. “Ah -- I'm late!” She rushed for the door. “See you tomorrow, then ...”  
  
And then she was gone, a stir of air and her scent all that was left behind. More slowly, Chakotay followed, but stopped at her console to pick up Mark's picture.  
  
Mark MacKenzie. One night when Chakotay couldn't rest, when thoughts of Janeway being held by the Kazon had driven him to sleeplessness, he'd called up the biography of warp engineer Mark MacKenzie.  
  
Well-educated, well-connected, well-bred, he had that patrician “good bones” look that Chakotay despised. No wonder, he thought. No wonder that even a year and half after the Caretaker cast them to this place, she still pined for him.  
  
Chakotay sighed, and put the picture down. What did he expect? That she might grow to love him as he did her? To care about a turncoat, a Maquis, a terrorist? Not likely ... still, there had been a moment, when she had clung to him, begged him not to leave, when he'd thought, maybe ... maybe, in this new place, this place where pasts might as well never have existed, they might be able to find each other.  
  
He sighed again. He hadn't lied about the paperwork. His “talks” with Janeway had put him behind, especially since he spent every spare moment consulting with the Doctor's psychiatric programs as well as his own spirit guide about Janeway's plight.  
  
He looked at the picture again, a small smile playing on his lips. On the other hand, they had been together for only eighteen months. He had sixty-eight and a half more years to get her to change her mind. He was a patient man.


End file.
